Busy Little Bee
by Trent Roman
Summary: When a Borg cube is spotted heading towards Wysanti, Norcadian entomologist and former drone Mezoti is drafted to help defeat them. But the key to their salvation is buried deep in her past, during her childhood years spent on the U.S.S. Voyager...
1. Interceptor

Disclaimer: Voyager, the characters and all associated elements belong to Paramount and are used without permission. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and intended to be free. Please do not distribute without permission of the author. Author can be reached at trent_roman@yahoo.ca

Historian's Note: The flashback portions of the story take place in 2376, before the Star Trek: Voyager episode "Ashes to Ashes". Other portions take place twenty years later, in 2396.

A brief note on chaptering: This story was originally intended to be read as a single block, but size concerns made me choose to stagger it using FF.N's chapter function. However, for dramatic and plotline purposes, it is still best read as one story rather than as separate chapters.

Busy Little Bee

Trent Roman

    "_Bremmim," Trow said with a grin, laying down his cylinders to show Polk that he had indeed completed a __Bremmim._

    "Bah!" Polk exclaimed, casting his own _Bremmim cylinders into the carved pot at the centre of the of doughnut-like __Bremmim table._

    "Another hand?"

    "Why bother? You'll just win again," Polk replied sullenly.

    "Come on."

    "No." Polk rose from the table, walked past Trow and sat despondently in the co-pilot's seat at the front of the small cockpit. 

    Trow shook his head with a private, amused grin. "You'll be back. There's nothing else to do out here anyway."

    "Bah," Polk muttered again. Trow thought he could hear resignation in the other man's voice. Polk knew perfectly well that _Bremmim was the only form of entertainment available in the small interceptor out here on the edge of the frontier, weeks from the homeworlds. This wasn't the first time Polk had walked away from the __Bremmim table, and probably wouldn't be the last, but eventually Trow knew that the sheer boredom of their tour of duty would bring him back._

    Trow started to slide the _Bremmim cylinders back into their slots on the table in anticipation of the next game when a chime sounded from the front of the cockpit._

    "What's that?" Trow asked.

    "Long-range sensors have picked up a contact," Polk answered, already tapping at the controls to seek contact confirmation.

    Trow quickly rose from the _Bremmim table and slid into the pilot's seat._

    "What's the configuration?" he asked.

    "It's too far away; I can't get a good read."

    Trow thumbed a switch on his control panel, opening all hailing frequencies. 

    "Unidentified vessel, you have entered Wysanti space. Please state your name, affiliation and purpose."

    Trow released the switch as he waited for a reply, but only static came through. After a few seconds, he turned the broadcaster on again and said: "I repeat, please state your name, affiliation and purpose."

    There was another burst of static, and a reply finally came through the communications systems. It wasn't _a voice as much as it was __many voices, speaking simultaneously and overlapping, creating an eerie, sonorous timbre. And if the voice – or voices – wasn't enough to cause Trow to shiver, what it said was ample motivation._

    "_We are the Borg. Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded. You will be assimilated. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own. Resistance is futile."_

    Trow glanced over at Polk, certain that his own expression reflected the look of wide-eyed shock, panic and fear on his co-pilot's face.

    "Confirm!"

    Polk nervously tapped at his controls. "Ship configuration is confirmed as Borg! Raising shields and powering disruptors."

    "I'm taking us out of here," Trow said, struggling to keep the panic out of his voice. 

    The small interceptors had very little in terms of offensive and defensive capabilities, but it was believed to be more than enough to patrol this part of the border, so far removed from the usual shipping lanes that it was almost always deserted. To a Borg cube, their ship would be no more than a fly to swat. 

    Trow quickly turned their ship around and punched the warp engines.

    "They're pursuing!" Polk cried out.

    "Going to warp five!" That was the fastest the interceptor could manage. And if the tactical reports he'd read on the Borg were any indication, it wasn't nearly enough.

    "They're still gaining! ETA to weapons range is ninety seconds!"

    "If we can't outrun them, maybe we can out-fly them," Trow said. Compared to the cube, the interceptor was small enough to be able to manoeuvre around the Borg. Trow didn't know what good could ultimately come out of it, but at least he'd buy them some time. "Dropping to impulse and coming about."

    Polk gripped his console until his knuckles turned white as the Borg cube ship loomed ever larger outside the cockpit window.

    "They're not firing," Polk whispered.

    "Maybe they think we're surrendering."

    A sudden jolt rocked the ship.

    "They've locked on to us with a tractor beam!" Polk exclaimed.

    "I can't shake it," Trow said. "Try to destroy their emitter array."

    Polk entered the coordinates into the weapons system and a purplish lance of energy shot out from the interceptor, back up into the shifting green morass of the Borg tractor beam.

    "No visible damage," Polk said. "I'm not sure they even noticed."

    But the Borg must have noticed, because suddenly another green beam, this one tight and concentrated, lanced out from the cube and struck the interceptor amidships. There was an explosion off to Trow's side as a power surge caused an overload in Polk's console. The Wysanti man was propelled backwards onto the floor, hitting the _Bremmim table and spilling its contents._

    Trow glanced backwards and saw his co-pilot sprawled on the floor through the thickening haze of smoke inside the cockpit. There was a deep blue gash running under his neck where a piece of Polk's console had lodged itself. Polk's face was inscrutable; his eyes glazed over and staring emptily at the ceiling.

    Trow turned back to his own readouts and saw that the Borg's blast had basically finished off the interceptor's shields. He thumbed the communications switch again, not bothering to check the frequencies.

    "This is patrol twenty-three to fleet command. We have encountered the Borg. Ship is disabled. Repeat, we have encountered Borg! My co-pilot is–"

    A humming sound from behind him caused Trow to turn. The last green wisps of a transporter faded around the pale skinned, cybernetic body of a drone. Trow rose from his seat, intent at least taking one Borg out with him, but some kind of feelers shot out of it's upraised hand and into Trow's neck. The Wysanti pilot grasped his neck and screamed as he felt something working it's way inside of him, then passed out, never to awaken as an individual again.


	2. Transport

    _Everywhere the little girl looked, people were running back and forth, screaming or crying or both. The sight of so many grown-ups in such a state of abject panic and terror was enough to cause the little girl to break out into a fit of weeping of her own, adding her scared sobs to those of all the other Norcadians in the corridor._

_    The little girl had been awakened when the ship starting shaking and trembling so much that she had been afraid of falling out of bed. She had screamed for Mommy and Daddy, but Mommy and Daddy didn't answer, and still the room shook as if caught in an earthquake._

_    But even at her age, the little girl knows that this couldn't be an earthquake because there was no earth to quake. Mommy and Daddy had brought her aboard a starship, and the starship was going to bring them to a new home on another planet, a home where Mommy and Daddy wouldn't have to worry about the Bad Men again. The little girl had had to leave all her friends behind on Norcadia, but she knew that Mommy and Daddy would be happier at the new home, so she tried to be brave._

_    But when she couldn't find Mommy and Daddy in their small room on the transport ship, she began to feel less brave. And when she left the room and saw all these other people – other di-si-dents, Mommy and Daddy called them – running like droks __with their heads cut off, she lost all of her bravery._

_    The little girl collapsed into a corner, curled up into a foetal position, sobbing. Other Norcadians just ran by her, some with bags or other luggage, paying no heed to the crying child. Finally, someone stopped and put a hand on her shoulders._

_    "I want my mommy!" she cried out to him before he could say anything._

_    "Where is she?"_

_    The little girl stared at him, not knowing what to answer. The Nice Man seemed to guess this because he said: "Let's go find her."_

_    The Nice Man scooped her up in his arms and the two of them joined the flow of people in the corridor. Still awed by the panic around her, the little girl asked: "What's happening? Why is everybody running?"_

_    The Nice Man seemed to hesitate. "We're getting off this ship. Some… bad men are coming aboard."_

_    The little girl stared wide-eyed at him, feeling even more afraid now that she had a focus for the fear. How could the Bad Men be here? They were supposed to have been left behind on Norcadia. Were the Bad Men after Mommy and Daddy?_

_    She wasn't sure how long they had been running, but between being bounced in the Nice Man's arms and the tremors of the ship, the little girl was starting to get queasy. Then some of the people in front of them stopped running, and tried to turn around, but they started falling. The little girl saw two men walking amongst the other people, and it looked like they were the cause of all this panic._

_    These are the Bad Men? They don't look like the Bad Men. __In the past, the Bad Men had always worn uniforms with weapons, and they told people what to do and were very mean. O-pres-sive, Mommy had said. But these men weren't wearing uniforms. Instead, it looked like they were wearing machines. And their skin was all white and icky-looking. Somehow, the little girl knew that she should fear the things walking down the corridors. They're Worse Men.___

_    The Nice Man spun around, away from the Worse Men. They had barely taken a few steps down the corridor when two more Worse Men came around a corner close to them. The Nice Man let out a startled scream as one of the Worse Men touched his neck, and suddenly the little girl felt herself falling. She hit the floor hard, scratching her knee. She looked back, saw the Nice Man slumping against the wall, and began scrambling away on all fours. She crawled with all the energy born of her desperation, and didn't stop until she reached another wall in front of her. She turned around, then screamed then she saw that a machine-wearing Worse Man had followed her. She kept on screaming, trying to press herself against the wall, as the Worse Man reached out with a claw-like hand to seize her–_


	3. Habitat

    Mezoti kicked and flailed with her limbs against the thing holding her down, pressing her to the floor. Surprisingly enough, it gave way. In fact, it wasn't very heavy at all.

    Mezoti realized that her eyes were closed. She opened them, and took several moments to recognize her surroundings as being her bedroom. She slowly began taking in deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. She still felt afraid and panicky from the nightmare. Soon enough, the anxiety created by the nightmare dissolved and was replaced by relief that it had only been a dream.

    _No, not just a dream. Also a memory._

    Mezoti shook her head, as if trying to clear the lingering wisps of the nightmare from her head. Unsuccessful, she decided that a brief walk and a glass of water would level her out enough so that she could get back to sleep.

    She swung her legs around the side of bed. Getting up, she felt something rub against her leg. She glanced down and saw her blanket. _I must have kicked it off at some point. She quickly made the link to the feeling of oppression she had when she woke up._

    Mezoti was pleased to have made the connection. It showed that she was starting to think calmly again. After all, she wasn't a little kid anymore. To be afraid of a (_memory) dream was just foolish._

    _Dreams are irrelevant a voice in her mind said, but Mezoti pushed it away and walked over to the hygiene room. Detecting movement inside the room, the habitat computer switched on the lights – only at half-intensity, since the computer recognized this time as being during the inhabitant's sleep cycle. Nonetheless, Mezoti squinted as she walked over to the silvery sink._

    She placed her hands under the faucet, which automatically turned on and divulged a steady stream of water. After running her hands through it a few times, she lowered her face to the sink. Cupping some water in her hands, she brought the cradle to her face and spread it over her face. The smooth feel of the cold water was relaxing, giving the momentary illusion of being submerged and protected in a peaceful lake or river.

    She looked up into the mirror above the sink, and the illusion was shattered. Little droplets of water glistened on her pale skin, running down her nasal ridge and cheekbones before joining the others hanging precariously from her chin. Her long brown hair hung loosely behind her, a few wisps falling in front of her face. But her eyes were fixed on the small, round piece of metal permanently attached to her left temple. Jet-black save for a few grey circuits, it was an unwelcome reminder of the dream/memory she had just experienced – not that it was welcome at any time. 

    She often felt that the irremovable Borg implant did nothing more set her apart from everyone else – even more so than her Norcadian heritage. She knew that Taré disagreed; he said it made her look mysterious, but then, that was his job.

    Mezoti still didn't feel at peace, but that wasn't a very uncommon feeling for her. At least she felt calm enough now to get back to sleep. Perhaps the dreams would not come again tonight. Or perhaps they will be pleasant. Either way, she knew that she had to work tomorrow, which meant that she needed her rest. It was pointless to put off the inevitable. 

    _Resistance is futile._


	4. Bridge

_    "And this," Naomi Wildman said with a grand flourish, extending her arm out as if to guide Mezoti out of the turbolift, "is the bridge."_

_    Mezoti stepped out, surveying the scene before her. It was as the schematics had shown her: Tactical to her right, Operations to her left. A railing cordoning the upper deck off from the rest of the bridge. The engineering and science pits deeper into their respective side of the bridge. The viewscreen, set into the bulkhead in front of her, currently showing the stars streaking by at warp. In front of the viewscreen was the navigation pit, and in front of that were the chairs for the captain and first officer._

_    Speaking of which, Captain Janeway was now rising from her chair to look back towards the turbolift and the two newcomers._

_    "Can I help you two ladies?" she asked with an arched eyebrow and a faint smile, an expression that Mezoti believed was supposed to convey amusement._

_    Naomi stood at attention, hands clasped behind her back, but couldn't keep a white, toothy grin off her face. It was an expression that Naomi often seemed to wear. With a certain amount of pride in her voice, she said:_

_    "As the Captain's assistant, I thought that it would be a good idea to show our new passengers around the ship, so that they could familiarize themselves with the layout firsthand."_

_    Janeway smiled fully, and gave the pair a dismissive wave. "Well, go right ahead, then."_

_    Naomi's grin became even wider, if such a thing were possible, and the young girl took Mezoti's hand as the Captain returned to her conversation with Neelix, the ship's cook and morale officer. The half-human, half-Ktarian girl led Mezoti over to the Tactical console, currently under the watchful eye of the stern Tuvok. The Vulcan glanced down at the children with a raised eyebrow, but this time Mezoti detected no amusement in the lieutenant commander's expression. In fact, she detected no emotion at all – typical of this species._

_    Mezoti saw the security chief look over to the Captain, who paused in her conversation long enough to cast a bemused nod in his direction. Looking resigned, Tuvok stepped away from the console, leaving enough room from Naomi and Mezoti to get a good look at it. The console surface was sleek black, pocketed by colourful LCARS buttons and status displays._

_    "You see," Naomi said, pointing out the various displays, "This indicates our shield strength, and this indicates the power available to the phasers. And these buttons over here allow you to purge the photon torpedo tubes" Naomi appeared uncertain of herself for a moment, her spiked brow folding in puzzlement. "Or are these the ones that align the tractor emitters?"_

_    As Naomi worked it out, Mezoti took the opportunity to make a scan of the console of her own. From what was written on some of the LCARS and status screens – one of the first things she and the other Borg children had done upon joining Voyager__ was learn to read and write Federation Standard – Mezoti thought she could divine the function of most of them._

_    At the top of the console, one of the lights began flashing red. "What does this one do?" Mezoti asked Naomi._

_    Suddenly, Mezoti felt herself pushed aside – firmly though not roughly – by Lieutenant Commander Tuvok. Paying no attention to the pair of young girls, Tuvok quickly tapped in a set of commands into the console._

_    "Captain, long-range sensors have picked up two vessels ahead. Configuration… is… Borg."_

_    Janeway stood, eyes fixed on the forward viewscreen even though Voyager__ was out of visual range. "Red Alert."_

_    At once, the lights of the bridge dropped from standard illumination to the darker, more focused lighting of the ship's primary crisis condition. Flashing red lights flashed on consoles and wall panels._

_    "Mr. Paris, full stop. Mr. Tuvok, raise shields."_

_    "Full stop, aye Captain."_

_    "Shields raised, weapons powered, all systems nominal," Tuvok reported._

_    "Have they seen us?"_

_    "Since Borg sensor technology is superior to our own, it would be logical to assume that we have been noticed. However, the two cubes on sensors have not moved towards us or powered weapons systems. They would appear to be ignoring us for the time being."_

_    "Let's not give them any reason to stop ignoring us," Janeway said. "Mr. Paris, start backing us off. Slow and steady."_

_    "Aye, Captain. Reverse course, half-impulse."_

_    "Wow," Naomi whispered, face wide with awe, next to Mezoti, "The Borg." Mezoti frowned at her comrades' reaction. After all, she__ was Borg. Naomi had never reacted that way to her. Perhaps Naomi didn't consider Mezoti to be Borg enough._

_    In the tense atmosphere of the bridge, even Naomi's harsh whisper sounded loud. Loud enough for Captain Janeway to turn around, suddenly remembering the presence of the two children on her bridge. "Mr. Neelix," she said, nodding in their direction._

_    Neelix nodded and came around the ramp, walking towards Naomi and Mezoti, hands folded in front of him. "Sorry, ladies, but I'm afraid that the tour is going to have to be postponed to a later date."_

_    "Alright, Neelix," Naomi said begin to walk along with him to the turbolift._

_    "But I want to see the Borg," Mezoti stated, not moving._

_    "I'll show you video logs later," Neelix said, still trying to usher her over to the turbolift. "But now we have to leave the bridge so that the Captain and the rest of the crew can do their job – or else we might end up seeing the Borg from a little closer than we'd want."_

_    That seemed the strike a cord with Mezoti, stirring a half-remember memory of assimilation. Though her face remained impassive, she allowed the Talaxian to herd her into the turbolift without any further protest._


	5. Lyceum

    "As you can see, the queen is the central hub of all proceedings for any hive. She determines what drones will perform what activities, where the hive gathers it resources, when it expands its territory and when to invade the territory of other species."

    Mezoti walked slowly back and forth across the screen, keeping the attention of her students focused on what she was saying by remaining an active target to the eye, but not moving enough so as to distract them from the presentation on-screen. On the large projector, a column of Rysanti ants swarmed over a smaller colony of beetles, overwhelming the larger insects through sheer numbers

    "Any given hive of the ants is capable of spreading over half a square kilometre before communications between the various branches and the queen begins to break down. This is because the ants have adapted to use various scents in various combinations in order to transfer information to and from the queen. This adaptation is perfectly suited to the windy plains of Rysanti, and allows for near instantaneous communication between the edges and the centre of the hive. The queen can direct her drones to change from workers and scavengers into warriors at the first sign of trouble."

    Mezoti walked up to a terrarium sitting a top her desk, picking up a pressure spray and flicking a switch to change the display on the projection screen from taped scenes of Rysanti ants to a live feed of the terrarium full of them.

    "But a strength can also be a weakness, as some of the other Rysanti insects discovered. They discovered that another, more powerful scent could override those produced by the queen and drones."

    Mezoti lifted the cover of the terrarium and activated the pressure spray. A fine mist shot out of the nozzle, dissipating into the terrarium. On the projection screen, the students saw the highly organized efforts of the ants degenerate into a confused jumble.

    "Without the queen to guide them, the ants become incapable of acting in concert – making them easy prey for mantises and the like."

    "Your attention please," a melodious voice came over the lyceum's communications system. "Classes for the day are now finished."

    Mezoti looked at the ceiling in surprise, not having realised that it was already so late. As her students rose to their feet, she called out: "Remember to read the section on parasites before the next cycle!"

    The room quickly emptied, the students eager to get to their own homes or wherever they would associate with friends. Soon, Mezoti was alone to pack up her own books and notes, heading out into the lyceum's hallways, which were getting less crowded with every minute. As she was walking down the corridor, she suddenly found herself accosted by a Wysanti man carrying a bouquet of flowers.

    "Madam," he said with exaggerated formality, "I'm here with the Wysanti Entomologists Association who wish to give you this set of uncommon pollinating bees–". He broke off, making a show of looking at the flowers and gasping in shock. "Why, they're not in here anymore! I guess they must have flown away." A mischievous grin broke across his face. "Which means all I have for you are these flowers."

    Mezoti returned the grin, taking the flowers. "Hello, Taré. I thought you only got back tonight."

    "The conference ended early, thank the gods. No-one should have to suffer through such tedium." Taré put his hand to his chest and adopted a melodramatic poise. "Oh, the pain of having to see a work of art – the child of the soul – taken apart bit by bit to be analysed and deconstructed, it's very essence and mystery diffused by words that could never presume to 'categorize' its glory."

    Mezoti chuckled. Taré always managed to make her smile.

    "But what about you, my lovely insect maiden?"

    "Oh, same old routine."

    Usually this would prompt another patented Taré speech against the ordinary, but this time he stopped walking and looked at her, concerned.

    "You look tired, Mezoti."

    "I just haven't been sleeping too well of late, that's all."

    Taré grinned suggestively. "Well, that's because you didn't have your good-luck Taré charm with you. A situation that can be easily rectified."

    Mezoti shook her head, the good humour he'd instilled fading rapidly. "I think it would better if you spent the night at your place, Taré."

    "My place? I haven't been there in five days, and it seemed too dry and antiseptic when I got home."

    "You mean that for once, your habitat was actually clean and picked up and didn't have a bunch of sculpting tools lying around underfoot," Mezoti retorted pleasantly.

    "Exactly! How can an artist work if he is not surrounded by his craft and inspirations?"

    Mezoti rolled her eyes in mock-exasperation. Taré was so unlike her – impulsive, philosophical, creative and disorganized in his own adorable way – that she sometimes wondered what it was he saw in a staunch, meticulous academic like her. Still, she was glad he around. Sometimes her life _was too mechanical – a legacy of her time with the Borg – and that's something she wanted to avoid even if she didn't realize that she had fallen into a routine. Taré was a perfect counterbalance. Mezoti liked to think that they complimented each other._

    "Taré, you always complain about how _my habitat is too sterile for you." She shielded her eyes against the sunlight as they emerged from the hallways and onto the lyceum's grounds._

    "Well, I know of several ways to make it more exciting."

    The offer was appealing, but Mezoti shook her head again. How could she explain to someone that she didn't want to be with him because of _nightmares? How could she rationalize this urge she'd been experiencing of late, an overwhelming desire to be __alone?_

    "Sorry, Taré. But I've got a veritable mound of essays to correct, and I want to turn in early so I can actually get some sleep."

    "Well, alright then. See you tomorrow, for lunch?"

    "Where?"

    "It'll be a surprise," Taré said, smiling.

    Mezoti chuckled and turned away from him. No more than five steps away, she spotted two men in the purple uniforms of Wysanti Military heading in the opposite direction. This was not a common sight, and Mezoti stared at them openly, her insatiable curiosity piqued. One of them looked straight at her, then tapped his partner on the shoulder and pointed. With a quick hand gesture, they indicated that she should stop where she was.

    Once the two officers had reached her height, the one who appeared to be in charge said: "You are Honoured Teacher Mezoti."

    It was a statement, not a question. Aliens weren't all that common on Wysanti, and she knew that her Norcadian heritage would be a dead give-away to anybody seeking to identify her. Nonetheless, she responded an affirmative "yes".

    "We'd like you to come with us, if you please."

    "What for?"

    "That will be explained to you once you get there."

    "Now wait a second," Taré said, suddenly at her side. He must have seen the officers stop her. "You can't just arrest her without telling her why."

    The lead officer shook his head. "You're not under arrest. Admiral Sizm himself has requested your presence at Military HQ. He wishes to be able to consult with you regarding a matter of your expertise."

    "My _expertise? Is Military having a bug problem?"_

    "I'm afraid I'm not privy to any of the details, Honoured Teacher. Will you come with us?"

    "I suppose."

    "Hey, can I come along?" Taré asked. Mezoti was glad that he asked. No matter what she'd been thinking before, being alone didn't seem all that great anymore.

    The Military officers glanced at each other. "The other one had his wife with him," the younger one said.

    The elder glanced at Mezoti, who nodded her consent. "Alright then. Our craft is parked not to far from here. If you'll just follow us…"


	6. Astrometrics

_    "Mezoti?"_

_    "Yes, Seven?"_

_    "Where are you?"_

_    "Under here," Mezoti said, crawling out from an open access panel under one of the consoles in Astrometrics._

_    "You will not do that again," Seven said, staring harshly at the little girl._

_    "Do what?"_

_    "Disappear from sight in such a fashion. I have been entrusted with the responsibility of caring for your well-being, and I cannot do so if I am unable to determine where you are."_

_    "I was only under the console," Mezoti replied, straightening up._

_    "Nonetheless. A starship is not a playground. There are many systems that can be easily damaged, and others that could easily damage you__."_

_    "But I wanted to investigate," Mezoti said with a touch of indignance._

_    "Irrelevant. In the future, before you consider doing any more 'investigating', you will ask permission from a qualified crewmember."_

_    "Oh." Mezoti stood there for a moment, considering her options. Seven had already turned her back and was working on the long-range sensor data. After a few moments, Mezoti spoke up again:_

_    "Seven?"_

_    "Yes, Mezoti?"_

_    "Can I go under the console?"_

_    Seven turned away from her station to glare at Mezoti._

_    "You said I should ask," Mezoti said in her own defence._

_    Seven looked at her for a few more seconds, then said: "Permission denied."_

_    "If you are simply going to deny me permission, why should I bother asking?"_

_    "You must comply with the rules and regulations that govern this vessel. You cannot place your own curiosity above your welfare and that of the crew."_

_    "But there's nothing else to do," Mezoti said, slightly petulant. "I've already finished my studies, and my next regeneration cycle isn't for another four hours."_

_    "What are the other children doing?"_

_    "Naomi is still studying, Icheb is reading about Surak, and Azan and Rebi are playing a mid-twentieth century Earth board game about property purchasing. None of these activities interests me."_

_    Seven seemed to reflect for a moment. "Part of my responsibilities for your well-being is tending to your development as an individual, and that should include extracurricular activities. When my duties permit me, I shall devise a schedule of activities for all the children to participate in. Until then, however, please try to find safer ways to pass the time. Perhaps you should try to advance yourself in your studies."_

_    Mezoti never had the chance to tell Seven what she thought of that option because the doors to Astrometrics whooshed open and Captain Janeway walked in._

_    "Has the data from the probe we sent out revealed anything further?" Janeway asked._

_    "It has," Seven reported. She glanced down towards the little Norcadian. "Mezoti, the Captain and I have to work now. You will return to Cargo Bay Two and await your regeneration cycle there."_

_    "Yes, Seven," Mezoti acknowledged. Nodding curtly at the captain, Mezoti turned and walked out of Astrometrics. She did__ consider simply returning to the cargo bay, but soon decided against it. It was boring there. Besides, Seven and the Captain were probably going to talk about the Borg they'd seen back on the bridge. And she certainly didn't want to miss that._

_    After assuring herself that the corridor was deserted, Mezoti walked over to the nearest access junction for the Jefferies Tubes. As she crawled through the cramped conduits, she was glad that she had taken to time to familiarize herself with the ship's layout. As it was, she was able to reach a segment of the tubes running just outside of Astrometrics that controlled the environmental systems. Thanks to the ventilation ducts, she could overhear the conversation of the two women in Astrometrics._

_    "…how long would it take to go around this patch of Borg activity?" Janeway was asking._

_    "Approximately six point two months, due to the clusters of subspace sinkholes where warp would be useless." Seven answered._

_    "That's a lot of time. There has to be a faster way through."_

_    Mezoti heard the sound of LCARS controls being tapped as Seven answered: "There is a passageway here, between these two clusters, that would let us cross the nest in just a few hours. However, probe telemetry would indicate that there is anywhere between three to six Borg cubes active in that area."_

_    "This ship is no match for even three cubes. Are we absolutely certain that they'll attack us if we try to pass?"_

_    "They have not reacted to the probe's presence, and to date, the Borg have not made any concentrated efforts to assimilate Voyager__. A single starship is simply not worth the Collective's time. However, it might be a different matter if Voyager__ simply presents itself in Borg territory."_

_    "So we've either got a six-month detour, or a fight with three – or more – Borg cubes. That's not acceptable. I want more options. Work with Harry and B'Elanna, see if you can't figure out something to counter the effects of the subspace sinkholes."_

_    "Yes, Captain."_

_    Mezoti heard footfalls, no doubt Janeway leaving Astrometrics. The conversation over, there was nothing left for her to do in the cramped Jefferies Tubes. Mezoti decided to head back to Cargo Bay Two before anybody noticed she was missing._


	7. Headquarters

    The men from Wysanti Military had remained stubbornly silent during the quick hop over to Military HQ on the southern continent. After disembarking, Mezoti and Taré were lead through a series of corridors and antechambers to an empty, white room.

    "Wait here, please," their escort said. "You'll receive further instructions soon enough."

    The two purpled-garbed men walked out, closing the door behind them. The door was also pure white, and the seam between it and the wall wasn't noticeable unless one walked right up to it. Mezoti looked around, trying to find any visual cues as to what purpose the room might serve, but the room's emptiness just stared back, mute. There wasn't even any dust or other impurities in the corners.

    To say that Taré appeared fidgety was an understatement. Mezoti had always thought that his proclaimed distaste for the antiseptic was simply an affectation, but know she was beginning to wonder if it ran deeper.

    "Calm down, Taré," she said as he began pacing.

    "I don't like this," he said edgily.

    "Hey, you asked to come along."

    "Your attention please," a voice rang out in the room. Startled, Mezoti turned around, trying to find any speakers. As usual, she saw nothing but the baleful white walls. "Do not be afraid. This is a decontamination room. The environment you are about to enter must remain sterile, so you will be briefly irradiated in order to eliminate any impurities. There will be no lasting medical effects, though there might be a brief feeling of nausea."

    A series of green, modulating beams shot out from the bottom of the room, forming an undulating sheet, first at floor level then rising slowly upwards.

    Taré had stopped pacing and was now looking down nervously at the encroaching beam. Mezoti, remembering similar procedures from her childhood, was not as discomfited. Nonetheless, both reflexively closed their eyes and mouths as the beam reached head height.

    The beam passed without even leaving the faint nausea that the recording had warned about. When the beam disappeared into the ceiling, Mezoti heard the telltale sound of air pressurizing, and a new door opened up in the north side of the room.

    Tentatively, Mezoti and Taré stepped through. On the other side was a large chamber with a great number of consoles and displays, with many Wysanti in the purple uniforms of Military standing at station or moving between them.

    One of them, a raven-haired woman barely older than Mezoti, moved towards them, smiling welcomingly. "Sorry about that folks, standard procedure. If you just follow me; Admiral Sizm is going to start the briefing."

    Mezoti glanced over at Taré, shrugged and fell into step behind the young officer. She led them across the large antechamber over to an ornate, double-paneled door. Waving that they should enter, the officer taped in a few commands to open the doors. With a quick glance at the officer, Mezoti and Taré stepped inside.

    "Mezoti!" came a familiar voice.

    "Azan! Rebi!" Mezoti said, surprised.

    The room was pale beige, with dozens of chairs facing a small podium and a viewscreen in one wall. Only three were occupied. Seated in the room were Azan and Rebi, her childhood friends and also ex-drones, along with Rebi's wife. Though surprised, it wasn't much of a leap of reasoning to deduce why herself and her adoptive brothers had been called together by Wysanti Military.

    The Borg.

    Before she could properly greet her companions and voice her concerns, another door swished opened and a scowling man in Military garb stepped through. He was somewhat smaller than your average Wysanti, but his full admiral's uniform made him look imposing nonetheless. Mezoti assumed this was Admiral Sizm, whom the officers had mentioned earlier.

    Confirming her suspicions, the admiral introduced himself as soon as he stepped onto the podium.

    "Hello, I am Admiral Sizm. I apologize to have had to interrupt your day." Mezoti thought he didn't sound very apologetic. "I'm afraid something of the utmost importance has come to our attention, and your planet needs your expertise."

    "The Borg?" Azan asked, apparently having reached the same conclusion as Mezoti had.

    Sizm's scowl deepened. "The Borg," he repeated angrily.

    Azan didn't seem to be surprised. "It makes sense. Lately, I've been having nightmares about my assimilation and my time in the Collective."

    "Same here," Rebi said.

    "Me too," Mezoti put in. "It was beginning to worry me. I was wondering if something was wrong with the nanoprobes in my system, and a little worried of what it might mean." 

    Taré looked surprised at this, and maybe even a little hurt that she hadn't shared this with him. Mezoti ignored it – she didn't have to tell him everything, after all, and there were more important matters at hand.

    "Well, if you were worried about a resurgence of the Borg technology within your systems, I can lay those fears to rest. You were tested before coming here, and everything seems fine."

    "The decontamination chamber?" Mezoti asked.

    Sizm nodded again. "It isn't a decontamination chamber, and this area is not sterile. That was actually one of our high-level scanning chambers, usually used for pieces of recovered alien technology, modified in this case for use by live humanoids. We scanned your bodies as you came in, looking for any signs of abnormalities in your nanoprobe count or implant activity. We couldn't run the risk that one of you might have been in contact with the Borg, either intentionally or unintentionally."

    "But what about the dreams?" Rebi asked.

    "Our scientists think that it's normal for liberated drones. That even after being freed from the Collective, some residual link to the Hive Mind remains, a contact which was in turn translated into dreams by your subconscious. They tell me they're not sure, mind you – our knowledge on the Borg is limited. Which is where you three come in."

    Sizm walked back up to the podium, assuming a more formal stance. "Two days ago, we received the following transmissions from one of our patrol ships on the border."

    Sizm pressed a button on the podium control, and a garbled recording came through the room's speakers:

    "_This is patrol twenty-three to fleet command. We have encountered the Borg. Ship is disabled. Repeat, we have encountered Borg! My co-pilot is–"_

    A low humming noise was heard, followed by a truncated scream. The recording cut off. Mezoti glanced at her companions uncomfortably. The recording had stirred up a lot of unpleasant memories.

    "We investigated immediately, of course. Our probes in the nearby vicinity were diverted to that approximate area. This is what one of them picked up."

    The viewscreen flickered to life. What seemed to be a visual data stream from a probe appeared. On the screen, a dark object seemed to float by. The probe magnified the image until it became recognizable as the most basic of shapes: a cube. A metallic behemoth that blocked out the stars behind it with its dark frame.

    "Heading analysis would indicate that its destination is Wysanti itself. If it maintains it's current course and heading, it will get here in four days."

    "What do the Borg want with us?" asked Taré, dismayed. "We have no technology for them to assimilate!"

    "The Borg don't assimilate only for technology," Mezoti answered. "Sometimes they need more drones, and attack populous planets incapable of serious resistance. That way they can gain a lot more resources by expending little energy. And it's possible that the Hive is simply spreading itself further."

    "What they're after really isn't all that important to us," Sizm snapped. "We want to stop them. Nothing more, nothing less. I don't think I need to tell _you what will happen should we fail."_

    His audience shivered collectively, images of Wysanti overrun with drones and turned into another Hive planet flashing in their minds.

    "But what can we do?" Azan asked. "Why tell us this?"

    "Well, we did have to check whether or not you were under the control of the Hive Mind. Furthermore, some were hoping that you might be able to help us in actually bringing this ship down."

    "It's been twenty years since we were part of the Collective," Mezoti said. "More than enough time for the Borg to assimilate countless new technologies and adapt them to their use. Everything we know is probably terribly outdated."

    "That's what I said, too, but my superiors disagreed. They'd like to have you come with us. It would be foolish not to use every resource we have at our disposal, and apparently that includes you three. When we're closer to the cube, they're hoping it will jog your memories, make you remember something that we'll be able to use to our advantage."

    "What exactly is Military going to do about this?" Taré asked, worried.

    Sizm walked over to the viewscreen. On it appeared a star chart, instantly recognizable as their solar system by the presence of the twin planets of Wysanti and Rysanti. The focus zoomed out until it covered most of Wysanti territory, including all outlier colonies.

    "This is where we believe our patrol first encountered the Borg," Sizm said. A throbbing red dot appeared in one of the farther sectors, one practically never frequented due to its isolation from populated areas.

    "And this is their estimated course." The map drew a red line from the dot to the middle of the map, the Wysanti system.

    "First, we're going to try and stop them before they get near Wysanti. Part of the fleet is mobilizing here, in Sector 47. Their course should take them right past The Gap, which means we might be able to surround them if we move fast."

    "That's a bad idea," Mezoti said. "Wysanti ships are no match for a Borg cube."

    Sizm didn't seem to appreciate the interruption – or the tactical assessment from an entomologist. "Let's just say we have a surprise that the Borg haven't seen yet. In any case, should we fail in Sector 47 – as unlikely as it may be – the rest of the fleet is going to mount a resistance right here, at ground zero, where our ships can be supported by ground fire from Wysanti and Rysanti's planetary defences."

    Sizm turned off the viewscreen, and looked at the four Wysanti and single Norcadian. "Our shuttle departs for my flagship in one hour. Be there."

    Without any further ado, Sizm walked out of the room.


	8. Mess Hall

_    Mezoti placed the fork back in the plate. "I will not comply."_

_    Icheb looked at her sternly. "You must. We are no longer drones, and we must consume nutrients orally now."_

_    "It tastes bad."_

_    "Taste is irrelevant. Neelix assured us that this product contains all the essential proteins, minerals and enzymes required to keep our bodies functioning at peak efficiency."_

_    At that moment, the Talaxian chef was off to the right side of the mess hall, engaged in conversation with Crewmen Ayala and Celes. The room was moderately crowded, the morning shift having just come off duty and looking for some lunch. There was an apprehensive undertone to the usual rumbling conversation, however: by now, everybody knew that Voyager had encountered the Borg._

_    "It still tastes bad," Mezoti affirmed._

_    "There is no other alternative."_

_    "Yes, there is. We should go to the food replicators and order chocolate-flavoured iced cream. Naomi introduced me to this product, and I find it quite agreeable."_

_    "Chocolate-flavoured iced cream will not meet all of your nutritional requirements. Furthermore, we should not expend replicator energy when unnecessary."_

_    "It is necessary," Mezoti assured him. "Because if I cannot obtain chocolate-flavoured iced cream, I will not consume anything else."_

_    Icheb frowned, appearing unsure of how to handle the situation. Finally, he said: "If you maintain your refusal to consume, I will have to advise Seven of Nine."_

_    "You would not."_

_    "Yes, I would."_

_    Sullen, Mezoti reached over and plucked the utensil from besides her plate. With a scowl on her face, she impaled a chunk of sautéed leola root and put it in her mouth, chewing methodically and without enthusiasm. She swallowed, and then looked pointedly at Icheb._

_    "Satisfactory?"_

_    "I do not believe so," Icheb replied._

_    "Is there a problem here?" Neelix had just come over to their table and stood hovering above it, speckled hands folded across his ample chest, an inquisitive look on his mottled face._

_    "Yes," Mezoti answered quickly. "The food tastes bad."_

_    "Mezoti," Icheb said reproachfully, "you have not been studying the acculturation aid-packs that Seven prepared. If you had, you would know that in this society, it is considered impolitic to point out to a cook that his preparations are unpalatable."_

_    "I… uh…" Neelix was about to reply when he realized he wasn't sure whether the former Borg had come to his defence or insulted his cooking, and so let the thought drift._

_    "Irrelevant," Mezoti said. "Courtesy will not make the food taste any better."_

_    Having determined the problem, Neelix thought he knew what to do. "Well, you don't have to eat your meal if you don't want to," he said accommodatingly. "But meanwhile, I see that Icheb has eaten all of his lunch! That's very good, Icheb. Maybe you'd like some dessert?"_

_    "No, thank you," the young man answered._

_    Neelix licked his lips. "Really, Icheb, you must want to have some dessert__ now that you're finished__."_

_    "I do not require any additional nutrition at this time," Icheb assured the Talaxian._

_    Neelix sighed heavily, drumming his fingers against his side. "Icheb. I think you should come with me__ since you've finished your dinner__ so I can give you dessert__." The Talaxian raised his eyebrows in Icheb's direction, hoping that he would finally catch on._

_    Comprehension dawned on Icheb's face. "Oh. I understand." Icheb rose from his seat, hesitated, then turned back towards Mezoti and said: _

_    "I will now go with Neelix to consume tasty dessert as I have finished my meal. One can make the assumption that you would also be privy to the same tasty dessert should you also finish consuming your meal."_

_    The former Borg turned to Neelix and smiled, interrogation on his face. Neelix shrugged and smiled back – a little obvious, but it should get the job done – then amicably placed his arm around the young man's shoulder as he led him away to the back of the galley._

_    Left alone, Mezoti considered the food before her. She supposed that the most efficient way of obtaining dessert would be to eat the meal after all…_

_    As she chewed disdainfully, she noted the entrance of Lieutenant Torres, Ensign Kim and Seven of Nine into the mess hall. Ensign Kim ordered something from Neelix, standing behind the galley counter, then joined his shipmates over at the table twice removed from her own. Mezoti considered this gathering of the ship's personae major to be much more interesting than her plate of leola root, and feigned eating while she listened in._

_    "Here's an idea," Torres said. "How about if we created a static warp bubble around the ship? I know they did experiments with creating warp bubbles on the Enterprise__. If we could trap subspace in that bubble, it wouldn't matter that there's no subspace around us. We could still maintain a stable warp field while skipping across the empty region."_

_    "This is not merely a case of a region of space devoid of subspace, Lieutenant," Seven said. "It is a subspace sinkhole__. Even if we could trap an amount of subspace inside a static warp bubble, the sinkhole permeates all levels of reality. It would drain the subspace from the bubble and leave Voyager__ without the ability to create warp fields."_

_    "It would be like trying to put the ship inside a rock and then skipping it across a black hole," Kim further explained. "The suction always wins out in the end."_

_    "Fine, that's it," Torres said, throwing her PADD onto the table in disgust. "I give up. There is simply no way to do this."_

_    "Oh, come on, B'Elanna," Kim said. "I'm sure we can figure this out if we just set our minds to it."_

_    "No," Seven said flatly. "I concur with Lieutenant Torres. The task the captain has assigned us is impossible."_

_    "See?" Torres raised an eyebrow at Kim._

_    Kim gave them a half-smile and sighed. "Alright then, who wants to be the one to tell the Captain that we can't come up with a solution and recommend a six-month detour?" When neither woman volunteered, Kim smirked and said: "I didn't think so."_

_    "We cannot change the laws of physics," Seven said in their defence. "Warp cannot be sustained in this area of space."_

_    "Except for that one clear corridor," Kim pointed out._

_    "Clear? A region infested with Borg is hardly what I would call 'clear'," Torres said._

_    "Voyager__ would be easily overwhelmed should we try to use the corridor," Seven stated._

_    "Unless…" Kim drifted off. "Maybe we've been going about this the wrong way. Instead of trying to find a way to pass through the sinkholes to avoid the Borg, maybe we could use those sinkholes to pass through the clear corridor without being harassed by the Borg. Would it be possible to use our shields to 'reflect' the lack of subspace in the area affected by the sinkhole? Mask our presence?"_

_    Torres shook her head. "Even if we could manage to do that, there would still be countless other emissions and signatures that the Borg would be able to pick up on."_

_    "However, the Borg are as vulnerable to the effects of the sinkholes as Voyager__ is. More so, considering that Borg vessels use subspace communications to communicate between drones intraship and with the rest of the Hive Mind."_

_    "So what are you suggesting?" Torres asked the former drone._

_    "I am uncertain," Seven confessed. "I am merely… I believe the term the Doctor used was 'brainstorming'."_

_    "If we could get the Borg into the area affected by the sinkhole, we'd be effectively stranding them for the time it takes them to cross the area at sublight speeds," Kim said._

_    "Okay," Torres said, "But how? We can't exactly shove the Borg around."_

_    "Tractor beam?" Kim suggested._

_    "Voyager__'s tractor beam would have no noticeable effect on a Borg cube. As far as I am aware, there is no way for a vessel as small as Voyager to physically displace a Borg cube."_

_    "Well…" Torres seemed to be gazing at a point far away. "If Kahless won't go to the mountain, maybe we can bring the mountain to Kahless."_

_    "Lieutenant?"_

_    "Would it be possible to artificially expand the area affected by the sinkholes?"_

_    "Theoretically, yes."_

_    "If we can somehow enlarge that area at will, we may be able to evade the Borg by augmenting the sinkholes and trapping the cubes in an area of space devoid of subspace."_

_    "How long would a patch of empty space keep a Borg cube down?" Kim asked Seven._

_    "I am uncertain. In addition to the time spent crossing the empty region at impulse speeds, one would have to factor the time the Borg must spend trying to restructure their internal communications systems to compensate for the loss of subspace channels."_

_    "If we can keep that up for the time it takes us to cross the corridor, we might just be able to avoid the Borg long enough to get into open space. Would they pursue us afterwards?"_

_    "Doubtful," Seven answered. "The Borg do not experience vindictiveness. They would not expend resources to capture a small ship with a small crew complement unless it displays technology worth assimilating; no matter how many times said ship frustrates their efforts. Individual resourcefulness simply does not factor into the Borg worldview."_

_   "We still have to find a way to expand the subspace sinkholes," Torres pointed out._

_    "We should clear this idea with the Captain before we start any time-consuming research," Kim answered. The other two agreed with him and the trio rose from the table, leaving the mess hall with their meals half-finished on the table._

_    The "entertainment" over, Mezoti turned back to her own half-eaten lunch. As she idly poked the chunks of leola, she began to wonder if there was some kind of sinkhole that she could use to get rid of the offensive food. Still__, she thought, closing her eyes as she brought the utensil to her mouth, dessert was dessert__._


	9. Cruiser

    Standing on the bridge of Sizm's flagship next to Azan and Rebi, Mezoti watched as interceptors and gunships cruised in space in front of them. Taré and Rebi's wife had also come aboard, but only the three former drones had been called up to the vessel's bridge, leaving the other two Wysanti behind in the ship's spartan crew quarters. 

    Taré hadn't been especially pleased to see Mezoti depart. Clearly out of his element in the highly militarized environment aboard the cruiser, the sculptor had been nursing a bad case of cabin fever barely three hours after they had departed Wysanti the day before. Mezoti, who had spent most of her childhood aboard starships – not to mention Borg cubes – adapted easily to the regulated pace of life.

    Mezoti had been in the middle of a much-needed nap when she heard the summons to the bridge. The events of the last two days had been draining, and the tension aboard the cruiser seemed to permeate the air. What little sleep she had managed to grab had been restless and plagued by nightmares of large walls filled with row upon row of drones regenerating in their alcoves.

    Mezoti watched the ships on the screen as they moved in and out of defensive patterns. Their constant, purposeful weaving reminded her of the bees she had studied as an entomologist. Considering the opponent that they were about to face, thoughts of hives and drones weren't particularly welcome at the moment, but Mezoti couldn't help herself. She wondered if it had something to do with their ever-increasing proximity to the Borg.

    The Wysanti numbered their vessels. Mezoti startled herself with this thought, a rather obvious statement for anybody that had grown up amongst Wysanti, but Mezoti, immersed in the culture as she was, had never made any connection between the Borg's intensely number-oriented designation system and the Wysanti's own tendency to number their vessels rather than name them. She wondered what about Wysanti culture had led to that particular means of identifying ships. Back on _Voyager, she'd observed that most Alpha Quadrant species had been almost obsessed with naming things. Ships, nebulae, bodies of water…_

    Mezoti shook her head, confused by the rambling train of her own thoughts. She decided to concentrate on the view afforded by the screen in front of her. The darting interceptors stood out sharply against the dark purple patches of space and the single sliver of pure blackness that had given the region of space the nickname of The Gap. In the distant past, this area of space had been a stellar nursery. For some reason or another, the formation of the stars had been aborted and the nascent stars had simply collapsed in on themselves after consuming all their hydrogen. Though they hadn't been massive enough to create physical gravity wells like a black hole, the presence of so many stars collapsing in on each other had had an adverse effect on subspace in the immediate area, suffusing that layer of space with a powerful blanket of subspace radiation – essentially disabling any device that needed subspace to function as it was unable to pierce through the interference to access subspace itself. It was like trying to run electrical current through a wall of rubber. All that remained was one narrow corridor where warp and subspace communications could still pass.

    Mezoti cocked her head to the side. For some reason, the visual display before her stirred something vague in the back of her mind. She had seen this – or something like this – before. Again, her thoughts drifted on their own accord to the time she had spent aboard _Voyager. There was a link here, and it felt important, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was._

    Suddenly that train of thought was drowned out by another thought pattern. These were not her own thoughts, however. It was alien yet familiar, a distant, imprecise warbling. Focusing on it, Mezoti thought she could begin to hear a voice – no, many voices all saying the same thing. They spoke in discordant harmony, calling out to her, snaking through her mind with the seductive memory of the unity and perfection she'd once knew…

    "The Borg," Mezoti said, involuntarily taking a step forwards towards the viewscreen. She couldn't see anything, not yet, but they were coming.

    From his command chair, Admiral Sizm looked at her. "Are you sure?"

    "Yes," Azan answered in her stead. "I can hear them too. They're getting closer."

    "Better than sensors," Sizm muttered. He rose from his chair and motioned to his communication officer. "Patch me through to the rest of the fleet." The officer nodded that the connection had been made, and Sizm turned back towards the screen. "Attention all vessels: the Borg are incoming. Assume Pavise Formation."

    On the screen, Mezoti saw the ships that made up the Wysanti's fleet re-deploy into their pre-determined formation. The three capital cruisers arranged themselves into a triangle with Sizm's own ship at the apex. The dozen or so gunships flared from this triangle, placed in position to provide support fire wherever it may be needed. Finally, a veritable swarm of interceptors arranged themselves in a concentric screen in front of the other vessels. Although Borg vessels were superior to all the craft employed by the Wysanti, it was obvious to everybody that interceptors wouldn't even be able to make a dent on the metal surface of the Borg cube. Their purpose was to bodily shield the other vessels long enough for Sizm to implement whatever his plan was.

    Mezoti glanced towards Sizm and was surprised to see the admiral looking right back at her. Or rather, he was looking at the three liberated sentients standing on his bridge, who by their own admission were in contact with the enemy. Mezoti could hear the multiplicative voice of the Borg in her mind, but she knew it had no control over her. Hearing them again after all this time had been a shock, but she realized now that the lingering remains of her assimilation were no more dangerous than a voice over the intercom.

    Of course, Sizm didn't know this and probably had every right to be suspicious. She was about to say something to reassure him when one of the officers manning a station set against the back of bridge called out:

    "We have contact with the Borg!"

    Sizm rose from his chair, all thoughts of the former drones seemingly forgotten. "On display," he said.

    The screen flickered, leaping forwards through the screen of interceptors as it magnified the image. When this telescoping action was completed, a single Borg cube floating in the centre on the screen in all its terrifying glory. It didn't look any different from what Mezoti remembered as being the basic Borg design that she had known twenty years ago, although she was certain that the Borg had had plenty of opportunities to upgrade their systems as they assimilated new civilizations and adapted to new threats.

    A pall of silence had fallen over the bridge. The cube approached without hesitation, stars falling into the background and behind its dark mass, some twinkling as they faded from the colouring of the dead stellar nursery. Green lighting produced by its energy systems seeped from its black surfaces. It was, to a person, the embodiment of all the fears they'd ever entertained about this dread race.

    "Sir – the Borg are nearing weapon range," an officer called nervously from the back of the bridge. The warning broke the entrancement that the sight of the Borg cube on the screen had produced in the bridge crew.

    "Tell the screen ships to begin their bombardment. Leave the gunships in holding pattern, but tell their commanders to be ready to pounce on any large chunks. Prime the weapon and tell me when we come into range."

    _The weapon? Mezoti wondered. The cruisers were armed with several phaser banks and plenty of photon torpedoes, but somehow she didn't think Sizm was referring to those. She didn't know what he had planned, and it had her worried._

    There was a crackling from all around them, a burst of static noise, followed by the same multifold voice that Mezoti had been hearing in the back of her mind for the past few minutes:

    "_We are the Borg. Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded. You will be assimilated. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile."_

    On the screen, the picket ships of the interceptors answered by firing at the cube, a swarm of small purple bolts darting from the small vessels, splashing harmlessly against the Borg's shields. The Borg didn't seem to take any notice, flying blithely through the ineffective barrage, not even bothering to fire at the interceptors. Several of the small craft had even needed to move out of the way of the cube or it would have ploughed right into them; the literally single-minded nature of the Borg taking no notice of such paltry resistance.

    "Sir? The weapon is primed and the cube has entered range."

    "Excellent," Sizm said. "Here's where we find out if the price we've paid for this technology was worth it. Fire!"

    Mezoti felt a rumbling forming beneath her from the bowels of the ship, making the deck plating vibrate under her feet. Though she couldn't see it, at that moment waves of blue-white energy rippled across the surface of the cruiser, crackling and sparking as it leapt through the void. The same phenomena occurred on the surface of the other two cruisers forming the lower rung of the central triangle. Finally, the energy arced away from the prow of the cruisers, curving towards the other ships and meeting similar streams of power from the other cruisers. The glimmering energy streams feed into each other, forming a ball of sparkling power. There was a single second, or perhaps even less, when the ball seemed to freeze in space.

    Suddenly, with a final burst of energy that caused an ephemeral wave of blue light to sweep over the prows of the three Wysanti cruisers, the ball launched itself forwards. The perfectly targeted weapon hurtled through the void, moving as fast as any torpedo, heading straight for the Borg cube. It crashed into the unprepared ship, sphere into cube, an explosion of light spreading from the spot where the ball smashed into the side of the cube and tore into its mass. When the light faded, Mezoti could see a gaping hole in the side of the cube where conduits and corridors had once existed. Green energy sparked randomly from inside the hole where energy conduits had been severed, and Mezoti could see several other power sources on the vessel flickering or dying altogether.

    A loud cheer went up from the gathered Wysanti on the bridge of Sizm's cruiser, and no doubt on every vessel in the assembled Wysanti fleet. The wounded Borg cube hovered unmoving on the screen, a testament to their success where many others had failed before.

    Mezoti, on the other hand, was in no mood to celebrate.

    "What have you done?" she asked, stalking towards the centre seat of the bridge.

    "What have I done?" Sizm repeated incredulously, as if unable to believe that the question had been posed. "I've saved Wysanti, that's what!" Sizm sounded as cheerful as all the others, a strange expression on such a characteristically dour character.

    "You used a new weapon on the Borg! Don't you understand? This was just a raid for drones. But if the Borg think that we have technology worth assimilating, that we've come up with some new means of resistance, they're going to keep coming at us until they got their hands on this new weapon. We're going to be overwhelmed with cubes!"

    Sizm's cheerful expression dropped from his face with remarkable alacrity. He didn't seem to appreciate being lectured on his bridge by someone who was, essentially, a civilian observer forced onto him by Military Command and whose expertise lied in bugs rather than tactics.

    "Look, Honoured Teacher," Sizm pronounced her title with undisguised sarcasm, "I'm not sure if you noticed, but we've just stopped a Borg cube that was heading towards Wysanti. Does that cube look like it's going to be posing any threat anytime soon?"

    Sizm turned his attention back to the screen, paying no more attention to Mezoti. He stood up. The beast had been impaled, and it was time to finish the job.

    "Order the gunships to move in and target the damaged area of the cube. Full bombardment – let's make sure there's nothing left of these monsters."

    As Mezoti watched in disillusionment, the gunships broke formation and began approaching the cube drifting in space. The lead vessel was manoeuvring into position to have a clear shot at the interior of the Borg ship when a lance of green energy erupted from the nearest ridge of the cube. It played against the sparkling blue shields of the gunship for a moment, and then punched through. The advanced Borg weaponry cut through the Wysanti vessel's hull with impunity, making it erupt in a fireball that quickly consumed itself in the void of space.

    "What in space just happened?" Sizm cried out as he slammed back into his command chair. All of the tension that had permeated the bridge minutes before slammed back into them, doubled by the shock of the sudden destruction of the gunship.

    "I'm… I'm not sure," one of his officers sputtered. "I'm getting readings of intense activity from the cube. They're repairing themselves, but much faster than any of our reports indicated they could."

    Mezoti focused on that background warble lying at some lower level of her mind, where she could hear the compound voice of the Borg resonate. They had rerouted all their systems to circumvent the destroyed section, and though weakened, could still operate at a level of proficiency that was sufficient to take on the assembled Wysanti fleet.

    "Tell our ships to pull back," Sizm ordered. "Ready the weapon to fire again."

    Mezoti felt the same build-up of energy beneath her feet as the trio of cruisers prepared to fire the weapon again. Blue-white energy crackled along the hulls of the ships, strands of energy reaching out to touch each other, coalescing into a roaring ball of destructive force.

    Again the ball launched itself into space silently, a translucent wave of blue light playing across the screen for a moment. The ball raced across the void, unmercifully hurtling towards the dark mass of the Borg cube.

    Then, barely a few hundred meters away from the collection of bulkheads and conduits that made up the surface of the cube, a dark, opaque screen winked into existence. The thunderous ball of energy splashed against the screen, not exploding as much as diffusing as it came into contact with the dark green shielding. In less than a second, the Wysanti's best hope of defeating the Borg was nothing more than a slowly dissipating sheet of bluish light.

    "They've adapted," Mezoti said, pre-empting Sizm's question. Though she had spoken softly, the pronouncement seemed to resonate across the cruiser's bridge like a death knell.

    To the Borg, however, stunned surprise was inapplicable to them and irrelevant in others. They fired their green energy lance at the cruiser, striking the vessel on the port side, carving a deep groove in the ship where the primary hull connected to the warp nacelles running along it's side.

    In a single instant, standard lighting in the bridge vanished, replaced by the harsh glare of the battery-powered emergency lights. All those who weren't secured at their stations – and many who were – were sent bodily flying over to the right side of the bridge. Consoles exploded in a shower of sparks, raining down onto the cold metal deck. The ship itself shook, and there was a loud crashing sound that didn't forebode very well for the cruiser's structural integrity. Mezoti herself was sent crashing against the other side of the bridge, striking her head against something hard and unyielding.

    She slumped to the deck, perceiving the cold metal plating with only part of her body, various patches of nerve endings seemingly unable to decide whether to keep on transmitting their messages. Her vision swam, as if something was rippling across her mind, refusing to settle.

    At the same time, perversely, something that had been nagging at her ever since she had first seen the dark colours of The Gap clicked into place, as if the shock of her crash against the wall had been sufficient to dislodge a trapped memory. An idea blossomed in her mind, growing into what she hoped was a workable plan. There were a couple of possible hitches, however – chief amongst them the fact that she couldn't seem to get her arms and legs working so that she could get up.

    Then she was rising off of the floor of bridge and into its acrid, smoke-filled atmosphere. It took her a moment to figure out that she hadn't managed to lift herself up without noticing after all, but that someone else was holding her upright. As her vision finally settled and focused, she saw that it was Azan.

    "Are you alright?" he asked.

    "I'm not sure," Mezoti confessed. She experimentally flexed her arm, and was pleased to see that her hands and fingers were responding as they should. She'd been worried that her brutal trip to the floor might have left her paralysed, but apparently her system had only been stunned.

    "Come on," Azan said. "We've got to get out of here."

    "Yes," Mezoti answered. "We have to get to one of the interceptors."

    "What?" Azan replied. "We're going to the escape pods. Rebi has already left – going to make sure his wife is safe."

    Azan gently tugged on her arm, pulling her towards the thankfully still-operating turbolifts. As she moved she caught the sight of a Wysanti figure slumped in the bridge's central command chair, his face hidden by the support pylon that had swung down to impale him.

    "Is that…?"

    "Probably. Please, Mezoti, I don't know how much time we have."

    As she let herself be guided towards the turbolift, Mezoti asked: "Azan, how much training did you receive with tractor beams and subspace mechanics?"

    Azan seemed surprised at the question, especially considering the circumstances in which it was posed. "It's not my field of research, but we all had to learn the basics to get our engineer's degree. Why?"

    "I have an idea," Mezoti told him as the turbolift doors inelegantly closed behind them. "Do you remember that time, when we were aboard _Voyager, when I rerouted the visual feeds from the bridge monitors to the cargo bay?"_


	10. The Corridor

_    Mezoti stepped back from the small podium, looking over her craftsmanship. Fortunately, there had been more than enough spare parts lying around the cargo bays – materials for shuttlecraft construction, she gathered. With a simple display screen, a few ODN circuits and compatible hook-ups, she had managed to tap into the ship's monitor systems and access the visual feeds from the bridge. Fortunately such systems were not controlled by security unless an intruder alert was declared. She'd selected a back view so that she would be able to see the viewscreen at the front of the bridge._

_    "What is this?" a flat, familiar voice asked from behind her._

_    Mezoti turned her head to face Icheb. "I have arranged for us to be able to observe the action taking place on the bridge in the upcoming conflict."_

_    "Did you receive permission from Seven of Nine to do this?"_

_    "No. I was not aware it was required."_

_    Icheb frowned. "I don't think the Captain would appreciate our spying on her in this fashion."_

_    Mezoti endeavoured to think quickly. "It is a precautionary measure. I figured that if we could monitor the status of the bridge, we would be forewarned if worse came to worse and the Borg boarded us. That way we might be able to help."_

_    Icheb's frown didn't leave his face. "Somehow, I do not believe that was your primary purpose."_

_    "Are you going to shut it down?" Mezoti asked, a previously absent note of alarm and pleading creeping unwilled into her voice._

_    Icheb seemed to soften. "I will not. I'll accept your reason – for now. But afterwards, we will have a talk about this with Seven of Nine."_

_    Mezoti knew this probably did not bode well for her, but the eventual consequences of her actions were quickly replaced by her excitement, not only in having won the argument, but also in being able to monitor Voyager__'s upcoming confrontation with the Borg._

_    Icheb sat down next to her, settling cross-legged on the floor, looking at the display screen. For some reason, he put a hand on her shoulder. Mezoti found the gesture oddly comforting._

_    They both watched as the bridge crew readied themselves for the upcoming crossing. Voyager__ was already proceeding at full warp towards the narrow corridor between the subspace sinkholes. On the main viewer, the areas affected by the sinkholes glowed in energetic colours that shifted between pink and orange. Heading towards the region, the sinkholes had looked like bubbles floating in the void of space. Closer up, however, the sheer size of the sinkholes became so imposing, it's "walls" of colour so dauntingly tall, that any quaint metaphor as bubbles in space seemingly became a rather unworthy analogy._

_    Already, Captain Janeway had turned to face her chief of security several times, worry etched into her face, asking if the Borg had responded in any way to Voyager's approach. Up to now, the four cubes on sensors hadn't even budged. It was clear that everybody on the bridge was on edge. The muscles of Ensign Paris' back were clearly tensed, his fingers hovering anxiously over the helm controls._

_    The ship engaged itself into the corridor, the fortress-like walls of the subspace sinkholes blotting out almost all of normal space save for a small sliver of inky darkness in the distance._

_    The first half-hour crawled away in stressed silence, both on the bridge and in Cargo Bay Two. At some point, Azan and Rebi had joined Mezoti and Icheb, sitting down next to their fellow former drones. The four of them stared at the makeshift screen as if watching a particularly engrossing holonovel. Of course, this was no mere fiction, and happy endings were by no means assured._

_    Finally, Tuvok, the back of his head barely visible due to the angle of the monitor, called out: "Captain, the four Borg cubes have begun moving in our direction."_

_    "Looks like we're tempting enough of a target after all," Janeway said._

_    "It's so nice to feel wanted," Paris quipped from his post._

_    "Keep your attention on your controls, Ensign."_

_    "Aye Captain."_

_    "Mr. Tuvok, how long until the first cube reaches our position?"_

_    "At current speeds… approximately twenty minutes."_

_    "Mr. Paris?"_

_    "I'll be ready, Captain."_

_    If the previous half-hour had seemed stretched out, the following twenty minutes were even worse. On tactical displays all over the bridge, four red spots gradually approached the white dot representing the Voyager. Mezoti kept glancing over at the chronometer set into the upper-left corner of Tuvok's tactical console, visible enough in the image. It seemed that eternities would pass while she observed another part of the bridge, but whenever her eyes were inextricably drawn to the dwindling digital numbers, she saw that only a handful seconds had actually elapsed._

_    At T-minus two minutes, the Borg were close enough to be viewed at maximum magnification. The vessel seemed even more ominous than usual, the dark metallic colours and cold greens standing in stark contrast to the hot pinks and oranges of the subspace sinkholes. At T-minus one minute, the Borg loomed large on the viewscreen without any need for magnification. When the countdown flickered to display the last thirty seconds, Captain Janeway said: "Now, Mr. Paris!"_

_    Mezoti saw the ensign's fingers fly over the console, and suddenly the scene of the main viewer literally shifted, moving away from the Borg cube and towards the "walls" of the nearest subspace sinkhole. Despite the inertial dampeners, Mezoti could feel the ship turn through the vibrations in the deck plating._

_    Voyager__ turned towards the nearest of these "walls", heading towards it at a very acute angle. The Borg cube that had been nearest towards them, by virtue of most of the distance between the two vessels being along the Z__ axis, actually ended up following behind Voyager__ itself due to the angle of Ensign Paris' manoeuvre. Of course, it was only a matter of time – and not much time at that – before the cube behind them would catch up. But they faced a more immediate threat from a second cube coming at them from their starboard bow._

_    "Mr. Paris," Janeway said, leaning on the side of his console, hovering above the pilot's shoulder. "I don't need to tell you that we want to avoid the Borg's tractor beam…"_

_    "No, ma'am."_

_    Voyager__ dipped, moving "vertically" downwards along the flank of the subspace sinkhole. This brought them closer to the first cube even as the second cube closed in on them, but the highly coordinated Borg were far too harmonized to fall for such a basic tactic. The first cube slowed down, letting the second cube pass in front of it as it chased after the small Starfleet vessel._

_    Unfortunately for the Borg, making two cubes collide had never been the intent of Mr. Paris' manoeuvres._

_    "Mr. Kim," Janeway called out, taking several steps in his direction. "Activate the tractor beam now!"_

_    Though Mezoti couldn't see it, she could imagine Voyager__'s bright blue tractor beam lancing out from the emitters and latching onto the event horizon of the subspace sinkhole. As she'd understood from the conversations she'd overheard, the specially modified tractor beam would latch onto the anomaly's "wall", for lack of a better term, and extend it. Mezoti wasn't certain how exactly the beam had been reconfigured, or how one went about expanding the event horizon of a subspace sinkhole in the first place, but the modifications to the tractor emitters must have produced the desired results because she heard the unseen Ensign Kim cry out exultantly:_

_    "It's working! The area affected by the sinkhole is being augmented."_

_    "Mr. Paris, cut them off," Janeway instructed._

_    "Aye, aye," the pilot answered with relish. Still dragging the "sides" of the subspace anomaly in the clutches of its tractor beam, Voyager__ banked to starboard. Space – or rather, subspace – ripped apart behind them, its very fabric flapping open as the sinkholes' massive pull gained new ground._

_    The two Borg vessels pursuing them ran right into the area that was newly added to the subspace sinkholes' sphere of influence. Systems shut down all over the ships, green lights falling dark, as the Borg's primary means of intra-ship communication was shut down, temporarily shutting down any drone activity until the Borg could find a way to adopt. Considering the vast network of circuitry running through the vessel on standard ODN systems, this wouldn't take overly long, but combined with the impossibility of moving at faster-than-light speeds within the area affected by the sinkhole, it would be enough to allow the Federation vessel to provisionally escape._

_    The vessel in question, still quite capable of warp speeds, hurtled down the corridor towards either salvation or destruction. Ensign Kim had disengaged the tractor beam once the two Borg cubes behind them had become moored in the sinkhole._

_    There was, however, still the problem of the other two cubes. These ones were directly ahead of them, and hoping that the Borg would conveniently choose to wait until Voyager__ was past before starting pursuit was, in essence, futile. Their only saving grace was that the cubes were at a sufficient distance from each other that they wouldn't be able to double up on Voyager__._

_    Again, Tom Paris brought them side-to-side with the event horizon of the sinkhole, leaving barely a few hundred meters between the anomaly and Voyager__'s port nacelle. The nearer cube was heading right towards them, adjusting it's position whenever the ship dipped or rose so that Voyager__ would have no choice but to go head-to-head with it. Paris slipped Voyager__ ever closer to the sinkholes' wall._

_    Finally, just when Tuvok called out that they were entering the Borg's tractor range, Ensign Paris made the ship pivot ninety degrees. The spectacle on the viewscreen shifted accordingly, the wall of the subspace sinkhole sliding along the sides of the viewer until it looked more like an orange-pink "floor" in space. Simultaneously, the Borg unleashed their powerful tractor beam, but Paris' sudden manoeuvre caused them to miss._

_    Paris dropped the ship towards this new floor, running Voyager__ just high enough above it so that the warp field didn't come into contact with the area affected by the subspace sinkhole. He aimed the ship for that sliver of space between the cube and the event horizon. Soon Mezoti and the others could see, on the screen, the nose of the ship flying a steady course between the two, the cold metal surface of the Borg cube above them, the bright, hot colours of the anomaly below them._

_    Voyager__ had barely emerged from this tight position when Mezoti felt the ship jerk beneath her. She had to place her hands against the deck so as not to tip over, and her fellow ex-drones did the same. On their display, they saw Janeway stumble, catching herself on the bridge railing. Janeway swung herself into the captain's chair as Tuvok announced that they had been caught in the Borg's tractor beam._

_    Cubes were constructed to have no real front or back, top or bottom, so that any side of the cube could function just as well as the primary orientation for the Borg vessel as any other. This included a full complement of the Borg's usual weaponry. Having only narrowly escaped the tractor beam on one side of the cube, Voyager__ now found itself ensnared by the emitter on the opposite side._

_    "Mr. Kim?" Chakotay called out._

_    "Initiating our own tractor beam, sir."_

_    From the green morass that enveloped the Intrepid__-class starship a blue beam lanced out, colliding with the nearby event horizon in a burst of energy. Kim swept the beam away from the subspace sinkhole, dragging with it the crackling orange-pink barrier of the anomaly. Under Kim's control the newly mobile event horizon swept into the Borg cube behind them. Power flickered as the sudden loss of subspace caused communications to cease all over the vessel. Finally, the disruptions became severe enough that the tractor beam that held Voyager__ fast flickered and vanished. _

_    The Federation vessel, it's warp engines still labouring away, suddenly leaped forward. This time the inertial dampeners weren't enough to deal fully with the sudden acceleration, and Mezoti pitched forward to the deck and into her construct. The display screen fell to the floor of Cargo Bay Two, the image vanishing as several ODN connections popped out of their sockets._

_    "Get it back!" Rebi cried out._

_    Mezoti was very tense from the images she had been seeing on the display screen, and losing the connection caused a rush of fear to surge through her body. Watching the Borg had been bad enough, but not knowing what was happening was far worse. She fumbled with the connections until Icheb, looking much calmer, reached over to help her out._

_    After an anxious minute of fiddling around with the connections, the image returned on the display screen. The bridge looked unchanged from when the image has winked out, which was a great relief to the children gathered in Cargo Bay Two. The cube behind them must have become stuck in the sinkhole like the previous two._

_    Which only left one cube._

_    This cube had been the furthest down the corridor between the nests of subspace sinkholes. It was still a good fifteen minutes away from Voyager__, but moving towards them in a determined fashion. It didn't move any differently from the other cubes, but Mezoti was sure that it had learned from what had happened to the other cubes and would adapt it's strategy accordingly._

_    This occurred shortly before Voyager__ entered the Borg's weapons range. The cube, which had been acting to intercept the starship up to that point, suddenly reversed course, matching its speed to Voyager__'s. It was clear that this cube had no intention of getting behind Voyager__. Nor did it need to, as it began firing at the ship, apparently no longer concerned with assimilation and simply wanting to eliminate the small Federation vessel._

_    The ship rocked under the blast of the Borg's energy weapon, the shields flaring up like a LCARS screen about to overload. The deck shuddered under Mezoti, the dull whoop of impact ringing through the ship._

_    "Shields down to sixty-three percent," Tuvok said matter-of-factly._

_    "Retreat!" Mezoti heard Captain Janeway cry out._

_    Instantly Ensign Paris turned the ship around, warp engines cutting out long enough to pull the nose of the vessel around a full one hundred and eighty degrees. The warp engines kicked back in and Voyager__ speed away from the looming Borg cube. Everybody, whether on the bridge or watching in Cargo Bay Two, knew that there where three other cubes behind them that might be able to restore themselves to fully operational status at any given moment. They would have to do something soon, or risk flying right back into the hornets' nest._

_    Despite Paris' best efforts to outmanoeuvre the cube, the Borg managed to kept their course and speed equal to that of the smaller Federation starship. The only silver lining to this cloud was that the cube's constant efforts to position itself directly in front of Voyager__, blocking it's way out of the corridor, allowed for Paris to keep Voyager__ from being hit by the Borg's weapons by using an extremely erratic – not to mention stomach churching – series of evasive manoeuvres._

_    But they all knew they couldn't keep it up very long. Eventually, the cube in front of them would land enough hits to cripple the ship, or it's sister ships would have enough time to recover from their encounter with the subspace sinkholes and be able to outflank the smaller ship._

_    "Astrometrics to Bridge." Mezoti heard the familiar voice piped through the ship's intercom system to the bridge, and from there to their little display screen in Cargo Bay Two. Her heart rose at the sound – Seven had cared for them ever since they were liberated from the collective. Knowing she was on the job felt reassuring, somehow._

_    "Go ahead, Seven," Janeway answered._

_    "I believe I may have a solution to our predicament. According to my tests, if we were to use our tractor beam to unite both walls of the subspace sinkholes, it should cause the anomalies to feed off each other and substantially increase their area of influence."_

_    Mezoti hadn't caught the meaning of all that, but Captain Janeway seemed to have understood because she then asked: "Wouldn't we get caught in the conflagration too?"_

_    "Yes. But the Borg are at a disadvantage: they will need to reconnect their internal communicates while we endeavour to escape at impulse."_

_    "It's better than nothing," Janeway said ruefully. "Mr. Paris, Mr. Kim – I think you know what to do."_

_    The two bridge officers chorused an affirmative response. Tom Paris broke off his frantic weaving and plunged towards the nearest event horizon. The Borg cube followed faithfully, staying in front of Voyager__. The course of the smaller ship now following a more-or-less predictable course, the cube was able to get off a well-aimed barrage against Voyager__._

_    "Shields at eighteen percent," Tuvok said, speaking loudly to make himself heard over the shudder of the blast and the trembling of the ship._

_    "Almost there!" Ensign Kim called out. "Initiating tractor beam… now!"_

_    As promised, the blue shaft leaped out of the ship and made contact with the "wall" of the sinkhole. The orange-pink backdrop of the sinkholes flashed white as the barrier separating the area affected by the sinkholes and normal space bonded itself to Voyager__'s tractor beam._

_    Barely a second later, Ensign Paris reversed their course, fruitlessly trying to duck the vessel in a vain attempt to shake off the cube that was still pursuing them, after a fashion. Voyager__ turned in mid-space, it's powerful engines pushing the ship towards the opposite side of the corridor of normal space and towards the flank of the anomaly on their port side._

_    The Borg cube hovering steadily in front of Voyager__ – relatively speaking, of course – didn't relent in its assault, and once again the powerful weapon found its mark against Voyager__'s hull. The ship shook worse than before. Stacked crates tumbled to the deck in Cargo Bay Two, while a riveted Mezoti watched columns of sparks spring into life all over the Bridge._

_    "Shields are down," Tuvok called out. "Minor damage to decks ten and eleven."_

_    "Tuvok, shunt all available power except the tractor emitters to the shields – including life support."_

_    "Aye, Captain."_

_    Behind them, the tractor beam continued to rip space apart, artificially amplifying the subspace anomaly at the ship's rear. Voyager__ literally tore through space, the cackling energies of the sinkholes nipping at its heels, ensnared by their tractor beams._

_    The ship shook again under the impact of a more-or-less glancing shot from the Borg cube. Had the shot hit full on, it was doubtful Voyager__ would have survived. Even another glancing hit could cripple them._

_    But by that time the ship had managed to reach the other side of the corridor. Paris made no efforts at a graceful stop – he simply fired the thrusters on the bottom of Voyager__'s front and on the top of its stern. The ship flipped even as it continued moving forward, as if trying to stand up on its warp nacelles. Finally the great, searing tear in subspace being dragged by the tractor beam crashed into the upcoming event horizon._

_    Voyager__ buckled and spun, sending just about everybody – seated or otherwise – crashing to the floor in whatever direction momentum allowed. The four former drones in Cargo Bay Two were no exception, but fortunately everybody managed to avoid the makeshift display screen as they slid about the deck plating._

_    Getting her feet and arms back under her, Mezoti pushed off of the floor, checked to see if her friends needed help (none of them had suffered so much as an abrasion), then crawled back over to the display. The officers on the bridge were doing basically the same thing that the former Borg were: getting back to their feet. Mezoti saw Chakotay's head rise from behind a chair where he had gone crashing, while Ensign Paris fell back into the navigator's seat as Janeway pulled herself upright again using the railing between the command pit and the raised tactical area._

_    "Mr. Tuvok?" she asked._

_    "As Seven predicted, joining the two event horizon caused the subspace anomalies to feed off of each other and expand their borders dramatically in formerly normal space. The shock we felt was Voyager suddenly dropping out of warp when our warp field collapsed due to lack of subspace."_

_    "And the Borg?"_

_    "They appear to be dead in space. I'm reading activity on the cube, but it is unfocused and almost random."_

_    "Great. Now let's hope we're not stranded here either. Janeway to Engineering."_

_    "Engineering here, Captain," Torres answered. "We've sustained some damage, but our impulse engines were spared," the engineer continued, pre-empting Janeway's inevitable question. "We're good to go."_

_    "Good job. Mr. Paris, plot a course towards the nearest boundary of the sinkhole in the direction of our exit from this corridor, and then engage at full impulse."_

_    "Aye-aye, Captain," Paris answered, tapping the appropriate controls, relief evident in his voice._

_    Janeway nodded, then turned towards Tuvok again. Mezoti could see a grim look on her face. "Casualties?"_

_    "The Doctor reports several fractures, broken bones and concussions, but nothing serious."_

_    This time it was Janeway who clearly showed her relief. The bridge intercom chirped again, Seven calling from Astrometrics._

_    "Captain, I recommend that we should perform a similar manoeuvre again at various intervals in the corridor until we exit – although at impulse speeds, this time. The large patches of space covered by the subspace sinkholes will be able to slow the Borg enough so that it will no longer be a utilitarian use of time and resources to pursue Voyager__ when they do emerge from the corridor."_

_    "As soon as we're back in normal space and that we've put some distance between ourselves and that cube, we'll go for a repeat performance when B'Elanna feels we're ready," Janeway assured Seven._

_    What happened next, Mezoti wouldn't be able to tell because the display screen went black. Startled, she looked over at the circuit connections, which were no longer in their sockets but in Icheb's hands._

_    "Icheb!"_

_    "I believe that is enough… prevention for today. The danger has passed, and we should not be spying on the Bridge."_

_    Mezoti sulked, but it was only half-hearted. Truth was, she was just relieved that they had escaped from the situation relatively unscathed. She'd been anxious to see more of the Borg – after all, she had been__ Borg – but after the harrowing events of the last few hours, she no longer had any curiosity left to explore. As far as she was concerned, she would be happy if she never saw the Borg again in her life._


	11. The Gap

    The cruiser quaked and shuddered as Mezoti and Azan ploughed down the corridors. Every once and a while the whole ship would lurch beneath their feet, as if making a sudden leap to the side. They'd stumble, use the bulkheads as support, and then begin running again. 

    They knew that the ship's tremors weren't being caused by the Borg – that first salvo alone was so devastating that the wounded cruiser would never have survived a second strike from the cube. Rather, the shaking was being caused by the aftermath of that first attack. The ship's structural integrity was failing, torn asunder by the powerful Borg blast. It was only a matter of time before something in the disintegrating cruiser fatally rupture, causing a string of explosion that would reduce the Wysanti vessel to nothing more than a cloud of debris floating against the dark backdrop of The Gap.

    The main lighting had been offline since that first blow, and even the backups flickered now and again. Something – or more probably several somethings – had caught fire and was burning, spewing an acrid smoke that clung to the ceiling. A low, persistent rumbling could be heard.

    The ship pitched, the deck slanting at a slight degree. This time it did not right itself after the tremors had ceased. They hesitated, feeling disoriented by the conflicting messages being fed to them by their eyes and the ship' artificial gravity systems.

    "Mezoti!"

    Mezoti glanced over her shoulder at the Wysanti man jogging towards them. "Taré? What are you still doing here?"

    "What, you thought I was going to leave here without you? When the cruiser decided that it suddenly didn't want to exist anymore, I asked the onboard computer to give me your location. A merry chase it led me on, too: the infuriating thing couldn't seem to decide where you were."

    "We've been moving," Mezoti said.

    "Excuse me?" Azan interjected. "Can this wait? We have to get off this ship before it truly does cease to exist."

    "Yes, of course," Taré answered, and the three of them began moving again. "Just where is it that we're going?"

    "The launch deck," Azan answered briskly.

    "We want an interceptor," Mezoti added as they rounded a corner.

    "I appreciate a dramatic escape as much as the next person, but under the circumstances I think an escape pod would have done just as well." 

    Taré was beginning to sound out of breath. It wasn't surprising: none of them were doing especially well running through the smoke-filled corridors. They were engineers, entomologists and sculptors, and while they kept themselves in good shape, they didn't have the physical training for this kind of situation.

    "Mezoti has a plan," Azan said, doubt evident in his voice.

    "Actually, I'm glad you found us, Taré," Mezoti said between gulps of air. "We could always use another hand. You can put those creative impulses of yours to good use as pilot and make sure the Borg don't blow us into atoms."

    "Well, I can certainly try – wait, what?" They passed a sign pointing them towards the launch deck and reminding them that it was off-limits to everybody except authorized personnel. "I thought the Borg didn't attack things that it doesn't consider to be a threat."

    "I plan on making us a threat," Mezoti said, determination evident in her voice despite the hoarseness caused by the smoke.

    They arrived at the doors to the launch bay, which, after a brief jerk, slid to the side to grant them access. There were usually three interceptors aboard a fully equipped cruiser. One was missing, presumably used as an escape vessel during the evacuation. The three of them ran towards the nearest craft, tapping open the side door that would let them in.

    They scrambled inside the interceptor. Taré, as per his brief instructions, headed towards the pilot's chair, dropping himself in it with little grace. Mezoti and Azan moved directly towards a panel inset into the wall on the right side.

    "I hope I can modify this thing," Azan muttered as he began working away at the panel.

    "You'll figure it out, don't worry," Mezoti answered, briefly dropping an encouraging hand on his shoulder before moving towards the front of the interceptor. Taré had activated the small ship's engines, and it presently rose from the deck with a low-pitched whine. He spun the craft around, glad that the controls on the interceptor were clearly indicated and relatively simple to figure out. He turned the ship around to face the launch bay doors.

    "How do I open the doors?" Taré asked.

    Mezoti shrugged. "Shoot them."

    "Right," Taré said, his tone flat and mordant. "You know, Mezoti, I'm certainly glad that you decided to take my advice and inject a little more excitement into your life, but your timing _really needs some work."_

    He found the appropriate controls and jabbed them. A pair of purple beams of direct energy projected from the interceptor, slamming into the unshielded doors and blasting them outwards into space. The interceptor shuddered as the launch deck explosively decompressed, all the air rushing out into the dark void. Tapping at the controls, Taré lead the interceptor out of the cruiser.

    "Mezoti," Azan called from the back of the ship. "I could use some help."

    Mezoti rose from the co-pilot's chair and moved to join Azan at his panel.

    Taré flew the ship gently away from the cruiser until he was fairly certain that they wouldn't get caught in the explosion if – when – the drifting cruiser detonated. Nearby, another one of the three cruisers limped, clearly wounded and leaking plasma, firing madly away.

    "It would help if I knew what we're trying to do," Taré called out.

    Mezoti answered him from the rear of the interceptor: "The Gap is an area saturated with subspace to the point that it essentially blocks all normal functioning on that plane of space, but it's got fixed borders where a stellar nursery extinguished itself long ago. I think that we can modify the tractor beam on this ship in order to extend those borders around the Borg cube."

    "So? They'll just cruise out at impulse, then."

    "On Rysanti, dominant hives of ants use smell to communicate. Other insects have learned that if they emit a smell so powerful that it overwhelms those smells, it cuts off communication, leaving the ants confused and vulnerable." Mezoti could remember giving this same speech to her students – two, three days ago? It seemed so long ago now. "The Borg use subspace to communicate between drones – much faster and efficient than usual circuitry. If we can cut their communications, it might destabilize them long enough for the fleet to destroy it."

    "You're expecting the Borg to act like a bunch of bugs?" Taré asked somewhat incredulously.

    "Exactly," Mezoti answered confidently. "I've seen it done before, or at least something similar. Back when I was on _Voyager – the ship that freed us from the Collective – they used the same tactic to evade four cubes!"_

    "But… don't the Borg adapt?"

    "Yes…" For the first time, Mezoti sounded uncertain. "Although back then, it was a lack of subspace and not an overabundance…" Taré could practically hear her shrug. "Subspace is subspace – not even the Borg can change that. And if they've made any additions since then as a result of that encounter… well, we'll see what happens." There was a pause. "For now, just take us next to The Gap's event horizon, between it and the cube, but try and avoid the cube itself as much as possible."

    "Staying away from the Borg will _not be a problem," Taré answered, glancing at the pilot's display and charting a quick mental route that would take them to the desired point next to The Gap. An elliptic curve, one that gave the motionless cube a wide berth._

    As Taré piloted the interceptor, he tried listening in to Azan and Mezoti in the back of the vessel as they discussed the modifications they had to make to the ship's tractor beam, but they were using technical terms that he was completely unfamiliar with and was quickly confused. Instead, he turned his attention towards the scene unfolding outside.

    The cube was still in the process of repairing itself from the powerful blow that it had received from the combined trio of cruisers. Taré could still see the large hole in the cube's infrastructure where the energy ball had carved a chasm in the metal landscape. It sat in space without moving – it's engines either not yet repaired or their energy diverted to other purposes – but it was hardly an inoffensive object. Every so often, the Borg would fire its green energy weapon, which caused untold damage if not outright destruction on whatever it had been targeted against. 

    The Wysanti's fleet only saving grace thus far was the sheer number of screening interceptors, making it difficult for the Borg to get a clear shot at the more threatening gunships and cruisers. Although Taré knew from the briefing that they should have retreated back to the homeworlds should the ambush fail, Taré didn't note any conspicuous absences that couldn't be explained by the Borg's counter-attack. Apparently whoever had taken over from the defunct Sizm had decided that a wounded though hardly toothless cube might just be their best chance at victory.

    The cruiser he had seen leaking plasma before had ceased firing and was drifting in space. The cruiser they had been on was still being racked with small, pocket explosions. The third was leading the charge against the Borg, it's purple lances joined by the torpedo barrages launched by the gunships. Although the Borg still had that shield of theirs erected around the cube, the damage they had previously sustained and the sheer number of attack vectors meant that some of the shots were punching through, although they weren't doing much damage.

    Taré was sure to steer the interceptor away from the bulk of the fighting. If anybody noticed the lone ship sliding laterally through the Wysanti ranks, they did nothing to acknowledge it.

    There was a flash of light reflected against the hulls of the other vessels. Glancing out the transparent cockpit, Taré saw that Sizm's cruiser had finally succumbed to its wounds and exploded irrevocability. By now, everybody _should have had time to get off the cruiser…_

    Taré shook off the thought, on concentrated on flying the ship. When his elliptic course finally took him along the purple curves of The Gap, he reoriented the interceptor so that the belly faced the anomaly, making sure to stay away from its event horizon. Technically, it shouldn't have any effect since they were traveling at impulse, but Taré didn't feel like taking any risks – any _more risks, that is._

    "We're in position," he told the two in the back.

    "We're almost finished on this end," Mezoti answered.

    As Azan and Mezoti turned back to the panel where they were fiddling with the tractor beam, Taré let out a deep breath of expectancy. Suddenly stuck with nothing to do, he could feel the anxiety of their situation creeping over him. When he caught himself drumming his fingers against the pilot's console, he began fiddling with the controls on the console to give him a tactical display.

    There was still a preponderance of small purple dots swarming over the screen representing the plethora of interceptor craft just like this one. Squares showed the position of the gunships – there were ten left now – and a single triangle indicated the third, unwounded cruiser. Taré didn't know what happened to the one he'd seen drifting before, but he could guess that it had suffered the same explosive fate as Sizm's cruiser.

    Then there was a flash on the screen, so fast that Taré didn't quite catch what it was. But he could venture a safe guess as to its nature when the single remaining triangle winked off the screen.

    "Guys? If we're going to do something, it had better be soon."

    "Just a few more seconds…" Azan said. "There, got it."

    "Keep your eye on that tractor beam, make sure it works well," Mezoti told Azan. Then she walked the short distance to the front of the cockpit and sat down in the co-pilot's seat. She quickly tapped a series of commands into the console. A cerulean beam shot out from the interceptor's belly, the specially modified ray of energy fusing with the boundary of the former stellar nursery. The ship shook as amethyst bolts crackled back up along the tractor beam.

    "Azan?"

    "Power reflux. The compensators are holding for now."

    "Alright then… Taré, move us towards the cube."

    "Heading towards the Borg," Taré acknowledged with a slight, disbelieving shake of his head.

    As the interceptor moved away from The Gap, Mezoti kept the length of the tractor beam constant, so that the merged margin had no choice but to expand. The forces of the subspace-saturated area were so powerful that they could see the consequences of the pull with their naked eyes, a creeping shift in the colour of the surrounding space towards the purple.

    The interceptor began to shudder under the stress of the massive energies being redeployed outside, crawling back up into the ship through the tractor beam.

    "I'm shunting the excess energy to the buffers," Azan called out.

    "Come on, come on," Mezoti whispered under her breath, keeping her fingers firmly in place on the tractor controls despite the ill treatment that the interceptor was taking.

    Ahead, the Borg cube loomed large. It had been firing consistently if somewhat unhurriedly at the Wysanti fleet as it repaired itself. Mezoti could still hear the thoughts of the Collective at the back of her mind, like a lizard lying passively on a rock. Suddenly the lizard stirred, and Mezoti felt as if she was under intense scrutiny. The Borg had noticed them and had surely recognized the tactic they were employing from that battle twenty years ago. 

    Without warning, Mezoti reached over and across Taré and slammed her palm against the control panel. The interceptor took a steep plunge downwards, both Taré and Azan crying out in surprise as their stomachs lurched in response to the sudden manoeuvre. Barely a second later a green bolt of energy sizzled through space where the interceptor would have been. Mezoti realized that they had been lucky that time, but there was no way that they could avoid the Borg's fire long enough to reach the cube. This little craft wouldn't be able to survive a direct hit.

    "Warp!" Mezoti cried out.

    "No! The systems can't take it!" Azan cried out from the back of the interceptor.

    "No choice! They'll blow us out of space." Mezoti grabbed Taré's attention as she said this, trying to convey as much severity and resolve as she could in her return gaze.

    Taré seemed to hesitate for a moment. Even without Azan's warning, a blind jump to warp – because surely there was no time to try and plot a course – in the middle of a crowded battlefield could have very fatal results. But in the end, eyes locked with Mezoti's and feeling her determination coming off in waves, he only hesitated for a moment.

    "Warp it is," he answered as he pushed the ship to starboard with one hand – there was no need to make an already dangerous jump to warp suicidal by pointing the ship right at the Borg cube – and jabbed the warp controls with his other.

    Still dragging the boundary of the The Gap behind them, the interceptor's warp nacelles roared to life. Space around the interceptor bent and distorted as the warp engines performed their eponymous task, and in a sudden burst of speed the interceptor seemed to elongate before leaping forwards. The still active tractor beam pulled the periphery of the subspace anomaly with it, ripping space apart in an amethyst conflagration. It wasn't even a matter of moments before the awesome energy released by the expanding subspace saturation fed back into the tractor beam with which it had become merged.

    An explosion ignited on the interceptor's belly as the tractor emitter, dragging an object that resisted the faster-than-light speed at which it was traveling and overloaded by the resulting feedback, gave up the good fight and detonated in a blazing inferno. The interceptor, free of the "weight" it had been dragging, suddenly snapped forwards, tumbling bow over port through space. It dropped out of warp as a series of subsequent explosions effectively turned the interceptor's warp drive into so much scrap metal.

    In that very instant, all normal lighting inside the interceptor went disappeared as every console in the small craft registered a surge in power before winking out. Unbridled energy coursed through the interceptor's circuitry, erupting in a shower of sparks as it pierced through the isolation. Azan threw himself to the floor as the console he had been using suddenly flashed white before exploding in a hail of glowing electrical embers.

    The rampant overload continued to snake it's way across the interior of the interceptor. Mezoti threw up her arms to protect her face as, in a searing flare, the navigations console turned into a storm of unfettered power, sending Taré soaring across the short distance between his chair and the bulkhead to his left, leaving behind a morass of fused circuitry and sputtering connectors.

    Following the rampant detonations, the silence that suddenly descended inside the interceptor seemed unnatural. Mezoti lowered her arms (the skin on her forearms tingled unpleasantly – no doubt she'd been burned in the explosion) and forced herself to open her eyes. She saw the smoking remains of the cockpit through the pulsating afterimage of the navigation console's explosion, a white blur superimposing itself onto her normal vision.

    Trying to blink away the afterimage, Mezoti leaned over her thankfully still intact console to peer out the interceptor's window. The small craft was still spinning, but Mezoti could see the Borg cube when the shifting starscape moved in the right direction.

    Her heart leapt when she saw that the cube hung in space amongst a roiling quagmire of purple and red. None of the ominous green lighting one would expect to see on a cube shone through – the Borg craft was dead in space. That final, disastrous jump to warp had been sufficient to extend the boundary of The Gap past the Borg cube. The resulting subspace saturation had effectively suppressed any attempts at intra-ship and inter-drone communication.

    Her self-appointed mission complete, Mezoti let herself drop back into the co-pilot's chair – then, from the periphery of her vision, she saw Taré lying limply against the opposite side of the cockpit, his back to her. She cried out his name as she pushed herself out of her chair and to his side. She rolled him onto his back and saw that the whole right side of his face had been burned in the explosion, his mahogany-coloured flesh standing out in deep red where it hadn't been charred black. His hair had been singed, and both his eyes remained closed as an arm dropped lifelessly to the deck under the momentum of her roll.

    Anxiously, she pressed her hand against the left side of his neck (consciously avoiding the burnt right side), and was relieved to find a pulse under her fingers. With nothing more than the basic first-aid training expected of every Wysanti citizen, she couldn't tell how strong it was, especially with nothing to judge it by other than her own Norcadian physiology, but she could see his chest rising and falling in a regular rhythm.

    "How is he?"

    Mezoti turned to face the voice, momentarily surprised before she remembered Azan's presence aboard the interceptor. Azan was getting back to his feet after his backwards lunge. Something had gashed his forehead, and a thin stream of brown blood trickled from the wound and down his cheek, but he looked otherwise no worse for the wear.

    "Still breathing," Mezoti replied, flinching internally at her less than sterling answer.

    Azan nodded in acknowledgement, then walked over to his console. Finding it defunct, he moved over to an adjoining console. He typed in some commands, the controls beeping softly.

    "I'm getting strange readings from the Borg cube," he said. "It looks like the whole cube has been powered down, but I'm reading an increase in activity. No energy, though." Azan paused, considering. "I think they might be bringing some kind of redundancy system online."

    Mezoti licked her lips. She had been afraid that the Borg had come up with an adaptation to having their internal subspace communications cut off after their encounter with _Voyager all those years ago. If the cube was able to restore itself to full operating capacity…_

    Leaving the prostrate form of Taré on the interceptor's floor, Mezoti jumped back into the co-pilot's seat, looking for any controls on her console that could be used for communications. Finding the appropriate console, she thumbed the button that would allow her to transmit on all available frequencies.

    "Attention, Wysanti fleet. The Borg cube has been provisionally incapacitated. Its defences are down and it is incapable of returning fire. But this situation is only temporary: given time, the cube will repair itself. All available craft should concentrate their fire on the cube _now. I repeat: the Borg cube is temporarily powerless and vulnerable, but it won't be for long."_

    Mezoti switched off the broadcast. For an anxious moment, she wondered whether the rest of the fleet would listen to her – she hadn't identified herself, and didn't have much in terms of credentials even if she had. But if they ignored her call, Wysanti might lose its last best chance to defeat the Borg.

    The interceptor's spin had slowed as struggling thrusters came back to life, and Mezoti spent several seconds clutching the co-pilot's console, waiting for the spinning starscape outside the window to show her the cube. When the vessel's spin finally allowed her a view of the disabled cube, she also saw flashes of blue and purple light streaking across the now-rippling backdrop of The Gap. The torpedoes and disruptors slammed into the unshielded mass of the Borg cube, triggering explosions and tearing large pieces of the mechanistic vessel off.

   Mezoti' experienced a surge of relief at the sight of the spectacle. The fleet had heeded her call. With so much firepower concentrated against it, and with all it's defences down, it looked like this cube would no longer pose any threat to the homeworlds.

    Though the surviving gunships seemed to be leading the charge, Mezoti spotted several of the smaller interceptors swarming around the cube – making certain that they stayed out of the way of the firestorm unleashed by their larger sister ships – pecking away at the other side of the cube with their own low-powered disruptors. Even with no shielding, the disruptors could do little more than gash at the mangled surface of the cube. Still, every little bit helped, if only to damage whatever conduits the Borg were using as countermeasures to the sudden lack of subspace and stave off a possible return to operating capacity.

    Then the Wysanti fleet and the Borg cube vanished behind the contours of the bulkhead surrounding the cockpit window. At that point, Mezoti no longer cared. She'd seen enough – she was certain that the cube was doomed.

    "We got it!" she announced for Azan's benefit.

    "I know," he said. "I'm monitoring it with what few sensors we still have left. It looks like it's only seconds away from–"

    There was a flash of yellow-and-red light from somewhere beyond the interceptor, lighting up the interior of the cockpit. It faded after a few seconds, leaving nothing but the glow of distant stars.

    "Warp core breach," Azan finished unnecessarily.

    Mezoti suddenly felt very tired, the weight of the past few days coming crashing down on her. She wanted to just let herself go limp in the co-pilot's seat, but she knew she couldn't allow herself to rest just yet. They needed help – Taré most of all.

    She thumbed the controls for the communications systems again. "This is a distress signal. We're aboard an interceptor that's been disabled and we have wounded, one critically. Our coordinates are as follows…"


	12. Cargo Bay Two

_    Mezoti heard the doors to the cargo bay slide open behind her, but did not turn around, focusing instead on the PADD in her hands. It was all about building your own colony of Denebian beetles. Of course, they didn't have__ any Denebian beetles on board the ship, but it was still interesting._

_    To be sure, a lot more interesting than what the person who had just entered would have to say._

_    "Mezoti." Seven's voice seemed even more cool and clipped than usual. Reluctantly, Mezoti turned around to face Seven of Nine, but did not rise from the Cargo Bay floor, where she was sitting with her legs crossed._

_    "Icheb told me about your… viewing session yesterday. He also informed me that you were the one who had the idea to spy on the Bridge, and who put together the required apparatus."_

_    Mezoti muttered something unflattering about Icheb and his dutifulness._

_    "Do not attempt to deflect the conversation," Seven advised her. "Icheb was simply following regulations in reporting your activities. Granted, he should have intervened earlier, but his trespasses will be dealt with separately. Here and now, we will address the issue of your behaviour."_

_    "I was only trying to monitor our conflict with the Borg," Mezoti said, calling on some distant memories of similar situations and injecting as much innocence into her voice as she could muster. "Should we have been boarded, we would have had advance warning, and could have acted accordingly."_

_    "Yes," Seven replied. "I have heard that version."_

_    Mezoti turned back to face the PADD, her shoulders drooping in a sulk._

_    "I believe that your true reason for monitoring the bridge was not in any way preventative, but rather another manifestation of your seemingly inexhaustible curiosity."_

_    Mezoti stood up abruptly, took a few steps away from Seven, and then turned to face the former drone._

_    "What do you want me to do? The ship is entering into combat with the Borg, and I am expected to simply sit and wait and hope that the Captain will be able to see us through intact?"_

_    "Yes," Seven replied unyieldingly._

_    "Unacceptable," Mezoti answered with equal resolve._

_    "On the contrary, it is expected. This is not the collective – you cannot expect to know everything that is happening in and about the ship at once."_

_    When Mezoti made no answer, Seven continued: "All the members of this crew recognize that they will be unaware of portions of the ship's activity. But they trust that the Captain and the other crewmembers will be able to perform their tasks adequately. You should do so as well."_

_    "Your comparison is flawed," Mezoti answered. "All those other crewmembers have assigned tasks to which they are devoted during a time of crisis. They don't have to just sit and wait – they have assigned functions that they can tend to."_

_    Mezoti began pacing the Cargo Bay, going back and forth between two piles of stacked crates._

_    "Everybody on this ship has his or her function," she said. "The Captain oversees ship-wide operations, you staff Astrometrics, Neelix tends to the Mess Hall, and even Naomi Wildman has her function as the Captain's assistant. When I was part of the collective, I had a function too." Mezoti stopped pacing and looked at Seven. "What is my function now? I have none."_

_    Seven seemed to mull her words. "You are no longer Borg," Seven started slowly. "You should be raised like other children, as an individual. And the primary function of children is their education. Your task is to learn what you can now, so that as you grow older you will be able to add to your existing store of knowledge and in doing so gain valuable skills. Every crewman on this ship went through the same process as you are currently undergoing."_

_    "It's not enough. My studying doesn't take up all my available time. But," she quickly added, "I do not wish for more studying."_

_    "What do you wish for?" Seven enquired._

_    "I want… I want something to do. Not studying, but something I can work on during my spare time. Something that I will be able to see results."_

_    Seven seemed reflective. "I believe what you need is a hobby."_

_    Mezoti turned the idea over in her head. "Perhaps… yes."_

_    "Do you have any specific activity in mind? Is there a subject or activity that particularly draws your interest?"_

_    Mezoti walked over to the PADD still lying on the Cargo Bay floor and picked it up. "This article on building insectariums is interesting."_

_    "Then I believe we have found a good candidate," Seven said pleasantly. "I need to return to Astrometrics, but when my shift is finished I will return here and we will discuss possible ways of beginning your new hobby."_

_    Mezoti smiled. "Thank you."_

_    "You are welcome," Seven said, then turned around and walked towards the entrance. Mezoti sat back down with her PADD and began reading with doubled enthusiasm. _

_    Just as the double doors of the Cargo Bay slid aside, however, Seven turned around and called out: "Mezoti?"_

_    The young girl turned to face Seven of Nine with an inquisitive look on her face. "Yes?"_

_    "We will discuss punishment for yesterday's transgressions at a later date."_

_    Seven spun around and walked out of the Cargo Bay, leaving Mezoti with a scowl on her face._


	13. Roof

    Mezoti was glad that she had thought to take a thick sweater with her before leaving the habitat. The winter season wasn't too far away now, and the Wysanti nights had turned cool, especially with the crisp wind blowing across the rooftops tonight.

    For all its briskness, the fresh air felt good on her face. She'd spent the last few days in debriefings with a succession of Military investigators, going over her actions on Sizm's flagship and aboard the interceptor. They wanted to know every detail; they were shocked that their prized weapon – which had been purchased at high cost, apparently – was so easily defeated, whilst it was an entomologist (and her friends) who had finally dealt the crippling blow to their relentless enemy.

    Mezoti wasn't surprised at all. Sizm's weapon had obviously been used against the Borg before, and they'd had no problems adapting. Defeating the Borg wasn't a matter of superior technology, it was a matter of understanding how the Borg operated, what made them tick, and at what spots their collective worldview and utilitarian ideology left them blind to attack. And who better than an entomologist for that?

    Wysanti Military was still on high alert, fearing that the Borg would launch some kind of reprisal. Mezoti wasn't worried. As she had tried to tell them several times, the attack on Wysanti had been no more than a drone-raid. With their assigned cube gone, the Borg would turn to other targets. The Borg understood superior weaponry and new technologies. They would never be able to understand individual resourcefulness like the kind that caused their downfall at The Gap. Such events were dismissed as a convergence of random circumstances – the Borg equivalent of luck – and were considered unworthy of the Collective's continued resources.

    Up above, the stars twinkled in the firmament. Two days before, she's been sailing amongst them again, as she had so long ago. But without an atmosphere to lend them their familiar sparkle, they had seemed cold and lifeless – as if they had been lacking the vitality that can only be found on an inhabited planet. The essence of home.

    "Mezoti?"

    Mezoti turned around at the sound of her name. 

    "Azan! Oh, I'm sorry, I completely forgot the time…"

    "It's okay," he assured her. "When I dropped by your habitat and the computer told me there was nobody home, I figured this is where you would be." Azan walked over to where she was sitting on the light-grey surface of the habitat complex's roof, then folded his legs beneath himself and sat down as well. The scar on his temple where he had been gashed had faded away so as to be indistinguishable by the soft starlight. 

    "I remember, when we were kids, you used to go out and sit on the roof at night, staring at the stars."

    "Yeah…" Mezoti said wistfully. "Sometimes, when I was feeling as if I didn't quite fit in… I mean, don't get me wrong, mom and dad were great, but sometimes, being ex-Borg _and Norcadian, I just felt so out of place. So I'd climb up to the roof and sit there, staring up at the night sky. Sometimes I'd try and identify constellations. Sometimes I'd try and find Norcadia, and wonder if I had any family left back there. And sometimes I'd take in the whole vastness of it and wonder where – in that big, black ocean – where __Voyager might be now."_

    Mezoti paused, shamelessly basking in the nostalgia.

    "Over the years, I went less and less often. One day, I had just stopped altogether, and didn't even realize it. Home stopped being somewhere amongst the stars. Home was here, on Wysanti, with mom and dad and you and Rebi."

    Mezoti stopped talking again. The silent night wrapped itself around the adoptive siblings like a comfortable blanket. With the vertiginous expanse of space above them, the moment seemed to stretch towards infinity.

    Finally, Azan asked: "How's your friend Taré?"

    "He's doing well. The doctors are confident that he'll make a full recovery. He's slated to be released from the hospital in a few days."

    "Good," Azan said. "He seems like a nice guy."

    "He is." Mezoti let out a low laugh. "Actually, one of the nurses told me that he might be out even sooner than the doctors estimate. Apparently, he's been driving the nursing staff off the wall. He keeps trying to make sculptures out of his food or spare equipment. He seems to have some sort of low-lying phobia about cleanliness. I know he doesn't seem like my type. But… I think that's why it works so well."

    Azan smiled and nodded. He drew his knees up to himself, wrapping his arms around his legs.

    "You know, I used to go out to the roof too. Rebi and me. Not nearly as often as you did, and I doubt mom or dad noticed, but we did. Pretty much for the same reasons you just told me. Looking for something in the sky."

    There was another pause in the conversation.

    "Sometimes I wonder about them," Azan said after a few moments. "Icheb, Seven, Neelix, the Captain, and everybody else. I wonder about what happened to them after we left the ship. Do you think that they ever made it to their home?"

    "Yes," Mezoti said without hesitation. "I don't know why… but yes. They made it. I'm sure of it."

    With a smile of contentment on her face, Mezoti turned her head back up towards the heavens, where their safety had been secured, where long-lost friends no doubt resided, and where the stars seemed friendly once again.


End file.
